


In This Fleeting Moment

by wayward_s



Series: A Thousand and One Nights [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ATAON, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergance, Angst, Being Bad at Communication, Canon Divergence from My Own Goddamn Fic, Confessions, Denial, Discussions of Relationship Dynamics, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Insecurities, Iwaizumi Hajime is King of Dramatic Exits, Oral Sex, Relationship Negotiation, Relationship Problems, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Sex, You're Safe from the HQ Timeskip here, because im baby, but thats cause its midnight and i have work, currently unedited, god this was difficult to write, happy endings, howmst do i tag Porn, soft smut, someone help OP shes an aroace disaster, theres only one bit of porn, this was a literal test on if i remember my own work 3 years on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_s/pseuds/wayward_s
Summary: In another life, perhaps they'd be happy.But he didn't want to imagine that possibility.Not now.ORThe version where everyone gets what they want, what they need, and all with less bullshit.Maybe
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Series: A Thousand and One Nights [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1146746
Comments: 19
Kudos: 35





	In This Fleeting Moment

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS IS AN ALTERNATE ENDING TO MY ORIGINAL FIC A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS. IT REPLACES CHAPTER 16 ONWARDS AND VEERS OFF FROM THE CANON OF THE MAIN STORY. I recommend reading the first 15 chapters of ATAON first because this is an alternate ending directly tied to the main story and it will not make sense if you don't have context but yknow, I'm not your mum, do whatever you want.**

_May, 2018_

It’s not uncommon for Bokuto Koutarou to be in a particular good mood - a _great_ one, even. He had his good days just like anyone else would.

What _was_ uncommon was when the mood stretched to more than just a handful of days at a time, but weeks, close to _months_.

Kuroo wasn’t jealous - that’s what he told Kenma at the very least - but he was worried. Overtly so. If the streak continued then there was bound to be a drop at some point.

Not all good things last.

And as Official Owl Tamer of Ryuujin Nippon (curse Akaashi Keiji for denying the second string offer), Kuroo Tetsurou was the one who needed to make sure that the monochrome haired male wouldn’t experience that dip right before they left for Jakarta.

They were running a solo practice, well after the rest of the team and the staff dispersed. Kuroo watched as Bokuto set the ball to himself and began his approach on the other side of the net. He jumped, quickly timing it to the spiker’s own, before he felt his fingers bend back from the force of the hit. 

Kuroo hissed to himself, and watched as the ball ricocheted off his fingers and off into the stands of the court. That spike _hurt_ like a fu-

Bokuto pulled Kuroo from his thoughts with a cheer, punching the air in victory when he saw where the ball landed.

“Nice form.” Said the blocker, shaking out the pins and needles that lingered in his left digits. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

The spiker turned, eyes wide in surprise - as if he hadn’t expected Kuroo to call him out on it. “Me? I’m always in a good mood, bro!”

“You almost took out my fingers,” he flexed them curiously, “nearly jarred my pinky, holy _shit_.”

“Ah, really? I’ll grab some med tape, hold up!”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Kuroo waved, wiping the sweat off of his top lip, “but if you’re feeling guilty then you can apologise by telling me what’s been going.” Bokuto turned back and frowned.

“I can’t be in a good mood?”

“I didn’t say that, but I haven’t really seen you outside of practice… And we’re roommates and best friends, Bo, you should know you can tell me anything.”

He watched Bokuto falter, and he swore he could see the gears turning in his head. 

There was a flash of something in the golden eyes of his best friend.

And for a moment, Kuroo wasn’t sure if Bokuto was in the moment with him.

* * *

_March, 2018_

Bokuto first noticed something _off_ after they met on the day of their graduations.

He almost missed his own graduation in order to meet her, and the past version of himself would have chasisted him because of it.

But these days, Present Bokuto didn’t care; Past Bokuto was none the wiser to the life he lived and how much happier he became.

Sure, he was standing in the sweltering heat in a three-piece suit waiting for the writer to reveal herself to him. And sure, he carried that bouquet of flowers all the way from his apartment like an _idiot_ because he was too excited about the plan.

But he was happy, and the look on (Name)’s face had been entirely worth whatever trouble he suffered.

She was happy, almost pleased to have his presence around her in her time of isolation. (Name), even if she didn’t admit it to him, seemed to enjoy having him around, and it would have been a lie for Bokuto to deny that he liked being around her either.

And turning down her offer for dinner was disappointing. It was always his luck to be busy when (Name) made the first move; and while she was never perturbed by his denial, _he_ couldn’t stop himself from feeling guilty.

(Name) told him to go, and though he wanted to stay with her for the night, he was compelled to listen.

So he went. 

And he was _glad_ he did.

The Grad Party was fun, which he anticipated since his boys were hyping it up for weeks. Always the life of the party on campus, Bokuto made sure his last stint in university was no exception to his reputation.

It was well beyond midnight when Bokuto found himself on the balcony connected to the hotel ballroom the Graduating Class rented out. He lost the boys long ago, and he assumed they were off drinking their hearts out while they still had the chance. He made his rounds alone, not wanting to draw Kuroo or Oikawa away from their fun, and he knew he had way too much to drink.

“Bokuto-tan.”

The monochrome-haired male stood up straight at the voice, turning to greet the new presence with him.

He completely forgot about her when he was greeting everyone.

“Nana-chan, nice to see you. Congrats on your graduation.”

“Same goes for you, Bo-tan.”

Nana was pretty, there was no denying that, with legs that went on for miles and a slender build that made him seem all the more larger than he was, and eyes that screamed _want you_ and _need you bad_.

It was no secret, either, that she held some affection for the Chuo Ace- and throughout their four years together at university the two had a playful back and forth; a constant ‘will they won’t they’ that graced gossip circles around them.

Well, that was until recent months of course.

A change which Bokuto was certain Nana noticed.

“Bokuto-tan, we haven’t talked in a while, and you go and ignore me tonight while saying hi to everyone. How mean~” She whined, strolling over with hips swaying and a _look_ in her eyes. “You look so handsome in that suit, did you get it tailor-made?”

He tugged at the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket long discarded at Takeo’s place in preparation for the long night. “No, it wasn’t - I just got lucky.”

“Well, you’d make _anything_ look good - loose or tight.”

The spiker laughed before he continued to sip at the drink in his hand. Nana leaned into his body, brushing their shoulders and forearms together thanks to the proximity.

Bokuto paused for a moment.

Their conversation, though they always bordered on flirtatious, were polite above all else. This one in particular was awkward, more awkward than he thought possible.

Now that he thought about it, talking to _any_ of the women in his cohort became more difficult than they once were.

And as the request and all the underlying meanings settled in his mind, he felt his throat dry up.

Past Bokuto would have been stoked at the request; all those years of tension and back and forth leading up to this moment.

But Present Bokuto was anything but.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to stop the way the muscles in his back locked up when she pressed her chest into him just a little.

“I think I’ll raincheck, Nana-chan.”

And then he was gone, pulling away from Chuo’s It Girl before he disappeared back into the crowded ballroom.

There was a pull in his chest somewhere, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out where it led.

And then he saw a familiar flash of (h/c) and a laugh of genuine gratitude.

Something sour ebbed at the thought of talking to Nana for as long as he did, and it soon faded when a warmth washed over him.

That, he thought, was not normal. 

* * *

_April, 2018_

The thing about (Surname) (Name) was that her trust was hard to gain, and very easy to lose.

So Bokuto sought to do everything in his power to right the wrong of his mistake that evening. 

Sure, he said he would let her decide - to do what she willed with the ball on her end of the court - but that got him nowhere.

(Name) gave him the bare minimum; Hanamaki mistakenly let her father into her home, and the encounter that followed left the writer shaken and angry and unresponsive in ways that only made Bokuto more disappointed in himself.

He should have been there for it, and even though he was there to pick up the pieces it wasn’t enough to satiate the feeling of guilt that settled in his gut. 

There was only one way to reconcile with her, and it started and ended with him standing outside her apartment very early the next Tuesday morning, a small suitcase at his feet and a coffee in his hand.

(Name), surprisingly, answered the door, and then immediately went to close it on him. 

He shoved his foot between the barrier, yelping when it was crushed between the door and the frame.

“Oh, shit, are you okay?” (Name)’ voice was monotone, though the spiker could sense a bit of distress in her tone. He nodded, hissing through the pain that coursed up the length of his dominant leg.

“Fine, just…” He exhaled deeply. “Good morning, are you ready?”

She blinked. “For what?”

“Our mini holiday.”

“Bokuto I hate travelling.” She deadpanned.

“You already agreed to it last weekend.” He retorted. She scoffed.

“I withdraw my sentiment.”

“You can’t; the binding contract of Our Friendship means that we uphold any promises we make to each other even if they are not declared to be a promise.”

The writer frowned. “Bo.”

_God, he missed her saying his name._

“I don’t want you to be alone.” He stated sternly. “Not right now.” The woman folded her arms.

“I’m perfectly happy-”

“I understand, but I care about you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. And when you care about someone and you’re sorry you do your best to actively make things right between the two of you. And I can’t just _leave you_ with your thoughts when I don’t know how you think.”

He sighed, his free hand clenching and unclenching the fist it formed.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide things from me and pretend you’re okay with everything when you’re not. You don’t have to hide away from me, _ever_ , I promise.”

Bokuto held out the coffee to her. A Peace Offering. She took it, hesitant.

“You said you weren’t one for the Cherry Blossom Festival.”

“It’s the same thing every year. The only difference is how much you drink and if you’re in good company.”

“There’s this moss that blooms every year in Chichibu in the Saitama Prefecture; a little more low-key than the festivals we have here in Tokyo, and it's _pretty far away_ from everything here…”

The writer dropped her gaze, and he stooped down to try and meet it once more.

“I got us a room out there for a few days. Travelling sucks, yeah, but it's more fun if you have someone to go with.” He rested his free hand on the door frame, bracing himself through the pain that lingered through his foot and up his ankle and calf.

(Name) brought the coffee to her lips and took a long, slow sip.

As she pulled it away, Bokuto swore he saw her hands shake.

It took him everything not to reach out and hold her.

“Two days?”

He nodded.

“What if I wanted to stay longer…?”

The spiker blinkged, mind running on edge as he tried to decipher the question she posed.

“As long as you need.”

“You only have two days off.”

“Adventures are more fun with someone else.”

_I’d do anything for you, how do you not get this?”_

She looked up, a weak smile on her face. It still made his body heat up.

His heart thumped erratically against his ribcage, and then the warmth cycled through his bloodstream, making him dizzy with something he couldn’t recognise.

“Give me a bit, I have to pack.” She murmured, holding the door open and allowing Bokuto to enter the apartment.

As he passed through the boundary of the _genkan_ and shut the door, he looked back just in time to see her retreating form before she ducked into her bedroom.

(Name) glanced over her shoulder and grinned, a silent thanks that he could tell she meant from the deepest part of her heart.

It made his own heart beat faster, made the familiar warmth in his stomach ebbing in larger waves.

* * *

_May, 2018_

Bokuto woke up with a start, chest heavy and a sheen layer of sweat coating the bare skin of his chest. The world was quiet, save for his shallow and laboured breathing that echoed around him.

His ears rang, and the sound of silence shook him to his core.

He glanced around furiously, eyes darting from body to body that lay on the floor around him. 

Training Camp. 

Ryuujin Nippon Training Camp.

That explained the unfamiliar territory, not so much his body because- 

What was that?

What the _fuck_ did he just dream about?

There were blurs in his mind, faint figures that he could barely make out through the haziness of his vision. It was unsettling; normally he could remember his dreams vividly, but tonight there was a filter in front of his memories.

It was grainy - static- and he didn’t like not knowing. As he adjusted his legs, he couldn’t help but pause at the sudden intrusion of a familiar sticky sensation.

The owlish male lifted up the sheet off his legs and-

“Shit…” He hissed quietly, collapsing back on to his futon, now very aware of how uncomfortable his lower half was.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not at a _fucking camp_.

There was a flash of light behind his eyes, and Bokuto caught sight of flesh underneath large palms.

Pinpricks of something danced across his skin, and as he tightened his already shut eyes he saw a face, a mop of hair, and flushed cheeks that complimented lust lidded eyes.

He was covered in velvet, engulfed by a heat that was both pleasant and alarming. His hands found purchase on a set of hips and his fingers pressed deep bruises into the skin, nails forming crescent indentations that were close to drawing blood. 

The ringing silence faded away, just enough until he heard a voice echo in his mind - breathy and gasping for air.

_“Bo…”_

His leg twitched, his hip jerked. 

And all at once it came back to him.

‘Oh fuck…’ He thought.

He hadn’t experienced a dream like that since high school, and even then he had never-

The wing spiker ran a hand over his face and threaded it through his hair. It was damp, slick with whatever sweat pooled on his forehead in the midst of his tossing and turning.

He slowed his breathing, piecing together the scenes of his dreams because there was _no way_ that actually happened.

Nope.

Not a chance in _hell_.

This is not what that feeling was; this _desire_ to be around and be present and be useful. The longing for touch and attention, for her smile and for her _presence_ -

He refused to acknowledge it.

There was no way.

Bokuto Koutarou did not have a wet dream - _and cum like a virgin_ \- about (Surname) (Name).

* * *

For what it was worth, Bokuto was able to pretend all was well around the writer when he returned from camp. Granted, they hadn’t met much since his return, but he was holding strong against the onslaught of intrusive thoughts that arose from _the dream_.

He thought he could maintain it, could withstand whatever twist and turn life decided to throw at him.

But his facade came crashing down around him when (Name) texted him excitedly (at least, he _assumed_ as such; it was hard to tell with someone as apathetic as (Name)-chan) that she won the Oe Prize.

A quick Google search and scouring a Wikipedia page or two, Bokuto congratulated her; caps lock, emoticons, and a voice message for all.

And it should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

Of course it didn’t.

It ended with him holding a bottle of relatively priced wine in one hand, a bag of take out in his other, and a sleep deprived friend standing by his side. 

_God, why did he not end with the text?_

“Bokuto-san, I know I accepted your invitation but I didn’t realise I was imposing upon a more intimate affair.” Akaashi deadpanned, fiddling with his fingers as they exited the elevator.

“You aren’t! I just figured you’d wanna meet one of my other friends and all. It’s one big surprise!”

“Not everyone likes surprises.”

“I know that!”

“Does this friend like surprises?”

“Not really, no.”

Akaashi exhaled deeply. “I trust your judgement Bokuto-san.” The dark haired setter relented; rubbing what little sleep remained in his eyes from his earlier nap.

The pair arrived at the door and without a word of warning or any form of introduction, Bokuto slammed his fist against the cold wood, startling whatever daze the ex-Fukurodani setter was in.

The door swung open, a chorus of “Hey, hey, hey!” was quickly announced-

And when Bokuto’s gaze fully settled on her form, he felt his heart stop and his mind go blank.

She looked beautiful, and he hadn’t even seen her in a few days. Was it even _possible_ to look so ethereal without trying?

 _No, Bokuto, don’t fuck this up_.

He kept his cool - though his instincts in keeping close to her didn’t exactly help his whole ‘Play It Cool’ plan he had going on.

But Akaashi was a good distraction; a Wine Mum if he had ever seen. (Name) let herself be swept away in the conversation and stories Akaashi was willing to share, giving Boktuo enough time to calm down and relax.

This was like any other night, he told himself, and there was no reason to be freaked out over whatever they were because of some dream. Dreams were dreams - pretend, no real rhyme or reason.

He could live through it. 

He _definitely_ didn’t image them having sex.

It _definitely_ wasn’t a new, recurring intrusive thought.

Not at all.

The denial lasted for the rest of the night, until they were finally alone - and it was then that all his confidence slipped away.

His gift. The proposition for a holiday to Osaka.

His heart tugged and the warmth that settled in his body grew hotter, steadily becoming a raging fire as they spoke, as he watched and took in every move and reaction the writer had.

For a moment, he moved to kiss her.

Then stopped.

Forcing himself back with a faux enthusiasm.

Instead he grinned and beared it, doing everything in his power not to reach out and devour her whole.

_God, this needs to stop._

* * *

His form was crumbling from the stress.

For someone who pledged to avoid the reason of said stress as much as he could, Bokuto sure enjoyed being in _very_ close proximity to (Name).

The day was entirely spontaneous.

It wasn’t her fault. Definitely his.

He moved on instinct, he argued to himself, he’d come to see Oikawa and ask if he was willing to set for him during the next Ryuujin practice and - instead - got sidetracked by the door just before the setter’s.

He definitely did not run up fourteen flights of stairs to her door because the elevator took too long. He definitely did not get excited when he discovered she was actually home that evening.

He did not miss her, not at all, not when the last time they saw each other was less than a week prior.

And even if he did miss her, he argued, it would only be because he was leaving Japan during the summer. Leaving meant finding a new groove, getting out of the routine they had carved together. Leaving meant he was risking losing the progress they had forged together over the past month.

His days – now that he was free from university – felt off if he didn’t see (Name), if he didn’t go to the other end of Mejirodai to make sure she had eaten something that day.

But there he was, going against the rules and boundaries he had put into place, lounging on her couch with soft music playing in the background while she sat at the kotatsu writing something.

That was the most common scene for them, and though Bokuto had always been an energetic person he didn’t mind slowing it down for her.

“Fucking Christ.”

The writer dropped her head down onto the table, the stationery jumping at the sudden action.

He never really asked about her work. But he would always, always ask about her. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer with words, instead choosing to growl in what could only be described as frustration.

Bokuto swung his legs over the edge of the couch, peering over the writer’s head to try and see the paper her body was obscuring. “Hey, you can talk to me.”

(Name)’s boy flopped backwards, her shoulder blades resting against his calves while her head tilted to the side to rest against his knee.

“It doesn’t sound right.” She admitted, and Bokuto felt his eyes widened in surprise.

From the other times he had been around to watch her write, (Name) was never stumped when it came to writing.

Motivation, maybe, but when she found the inspiration she took off and never once looked back.

This was new.

This was worrying.

“Maybe that’s because you’ve been writing and reading the same poem for the entire day.” He mused, and she exhaled in response. “Lemme read it.”

She laughed, and Bokuto swore his heart skipped a beat at how happy she sounded.

“I mean it! I took units of creative writing and literature in second year, and not to brag but I did pretty well in them!”

He didn’t; he barely scraped by in his final exams in both courses by some random miracle from his ancestors.

But she didn’t have to know that, and if lying meant he could get a sneak preview of what was probably another best selling work then who was he to judge the mechanics of their relationship – friendship, not relationship.

“It’s…” She faltered. “This one's really important…” Her confession made Bokuto tilt his head.

“Isn’t everything you write really important?”

Her hesitance faded if but for a moment at the sound of his confusion. It returned just as quickly.

“This is the one that is going to be the first poem in the anthology…”

The writer gestured to the mess of papers before her.

“Can’t you just put one of the other ones at the front?”

She shook her head, and for a moment Bokuto swore her eyes glazed over.

“You know when you can feel a good spike?” He nodded, and she tapped the paper. “ _This_ is my good spike.”

He pouted, still staring down at her. It’s not like this behaviour was out of the ordinary – (Name) rarely let him read her works-in-progress because of the personal nature of the craft– but this was a strange vulnerability he was not used to.

“Then let me see this great spike of yours, Ace.” He prodded, watching the hesitation appear on her face.

Silence followed.

And then she lifted the two A4 pieces of paper up and held it out to him for the spiker to take into his own hands.

He dragged his gaze away from her and let it rest at the top of the page, taking in the working title for her draft.

The faint piano acted as the backdrop of his very first reading, and the music fit the rise and fall of each stanza, punctuating each sentence as if it were made for her words. His mouth dried up, as if all the moisture in the air and his body evaporated in the spring air, and soon the music was drowned out by the sound of the blood thumping in his eardrums.

Minutes passed, hell hours could have passed for all he knew, but the spiker was entranced by her words, and it was only then that he realised why people were willing to call her the things she was called.

Her words were beautiful, and evoked every emotion he had locked away for weeks with minimal effort.

She spoke to the soul, spoke to the common man – and understood them.

Bokuto froze as he finished reading both pages of the poem, his gaze lingering on each harsh scribble and blot of ink that erased the presence of a string of words.

He wanted to know what they said.

The words he could read, however, were intimate, tender, enough to keep his own curiosity satiated for a mere moment because what if this was him?

What if she was feeling everything he was feeling too?

And the questions solidified and became statements.

This was him.

This was about him.

_She was feeling everything he was feeling too._

The dam of his emotions broke in the same moment of realisation, and there was no restraint left in the spiker’s body.

With his free hand he grasped her chin lightly, making her turn to the left before he ducked down and kissed her, eyes clamped shut.

It was sudden and fast and earnest and real – so, so real – and Bokuto could not think of anything else but her.

The electricity he had been feeling for weeks finally made sense, coursing through his veins with a vengeance as he kept their lips locked tight.

Seconds past and turned to minutes of silence, of Bokuto waiting for something else. He wouldn’t press further, not unless (Name) moved as well-

His mind drew a blank as her lips moved for a fraction of a second. And then again, slowly moving in rhythm with the pace he set.

She was reciprocating.

Her mouth was moving.

Actually _moving_ and –

Bokuto’s fingers moved to cup her cheek, pressing his lips against hers harder as he continued to take in this moment.

She responded to his eagerness, continuing to kiss him as if it were so natural, so normal to do.

(Name) enjoyed slowing things down, and there was a tenderness to her affections that oddly fit with who he realised she was. In the same way she enjoyed slowing down her life and savouring the moments she found herself in, (Name) wanted to prolong affection she shared – perhaps a side effect of the life before he existed in it, Bokuto wasn’t sure – but he wasn’t one to be picky.

He always took what he could get with her.

He pulled her up by the hand, the same way he did whenever he wanted to dance with her, and spun her around. He rested both hands on her hips and slowly guided her down so her legs were straddled across his lap.

Their lips were still locked in kiss, all tongue and teeth and it was too, too much for Bokuto. Kissing her, being able to hold her, was as natural as breathing.

The warmth that he had become accustomed to turned into fire that spread up and down his body as he continued to let his hands roam across the expanse of her body, mapping every crevice of her uncharted territory.

This was so much better than his dream; nothing could top the reality that was sitting in front of him (or on top of him, which was _way better_ than the dream as well).

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The words left his mouth faster than he could stop them, and with them came the reality that he had been trying to avoid.

A firm statement; not a breathy whisper. It was as if his subconscious knew about the idea of them all along.

And while he should have been scared at what just left his lips, he wasn’t. He was happy at the revelation. This was normal – this was what needed to happen; it was their end goal together.

Bokuto Koutarou was in love with (Surname) (Name).

He couldn’t deny it any longer.

He could feel his heart thundering against his sternum as he waited, waited with baited breath for her answer - _fuck_ , he didn’t even mind the thought of waiting for her, just like he always did. 

Instead, she moved forward again, capturing his lips between her own.

Silent.

Sudden.

And for a moment Bokuto thought he was imagining the sensation of her lips against his, or the way her hands grasped at his shoulders for stability. 

But he wasn’t.

She was _there_.

She was with him.

Choosing _him_.

Bokuto’s body moved on instinct, hands squeezing bruises into the writer’s hips as he pulled her closer and closer to his body, keeping her flush against him while he kept up his assault on her lips.

He snaked his hands underneath her shirt, pushing the fabric up, up, up until she was laid bare before him, lips moving from her mouth down the curve of her throat towards the valley of her chest. 

The writer tensed and relaxed as he kept exploring her skin, her fingers tangling into the roots of his hair as Bokuto maneuvered them so she was pressed beneath him and his wandering mouth and hands. Her hands tugged at his shirt, separating for a moment to rip it from his torso before he connected his lips back to the expanse of her stomach and hiked her legs around his waist as he dipped lower and lower. 

“So beautiful…” He murmured, baring his teeth to leave a bite at the curve of her hip. 

She inhaled sharply, squeezing at his shoulders and forcing him back up to press their mouths together. 

“Tell me to stop…” He groaned, pressing his forehead against her while their breath mingled between them. “S’your choice… One word and we stop…”

One last chance for her to pull away. 

One last chance for the writer to shatter the dream he was living. 

But to his relief, she didn’t. Instead she tightened the grip she had on his shoulders and let her calves clamp around his waist.

“You’re so beautiful…” He ducked down to press his lips against the column of her throat. “Breath-taking…” He scraped his teeth against her skin, causing her to whine. “Just lay back… I’ll take care of you…”

The spiker trailed lower and lower, hooking his fingers on the waistbands of the writer's shorts and underwear before he tugged them off her legs. 

All before he surged forward and clamped down on her core. 

She writhed underneath him, tangling her hands in his hair and tugging at every swipe of his tongue against her. Panting his name and groaning, it was a melodic tune that Bokuto _knew_ he would never get tired of hearing. 

(Name) was perfect. 

And watching and listening and _feeling_ her unravel because of everything he was doing was enough to make his pride flare with confidence and assurance and _she wants this treat her well only the best for her-_

Somewhere between her first and second release against his mouth and fingers did Bokuto lose the rest of his clothing, hissing to himself as he rutted into the couch they were sprawled across. 

And then he pried himself away, lips blazing a path back up before he captured her in another kiss, her release lingering on his lips while his tongue poked and prodded in her mouth. 

One of her hands snaked lower and wrapped around his length, pumping twice as a sign, and then he was pushing in. 

He felt his eyes roll to the back of his skull as he fully sunk himself into her heat, his breath stuttering as the velvet folds engulfed every inch of him.

It took a moment to compose himself, and when he finally found the strength to open his eyes his gold ones met (e/c) and he shuddered. The eyes that were usually bored, almost dull, were lit aflame, though cloudy from foreplay and anticipation. And her face, normally impassive, mirrored the look in her eyes, with her hair framing her face.

A wild goddess who fell to earth. 

All for him. 

“ _So_ beautiful…” Bokuto murmured, ducking down to press another searing kiss to her already swollen lips. 

And then he moved, thrusting his hips slow and shallow as his mouth muffled whatever sounds escaped her mouth. (Name)’s hands trailed up his chest, leaving goose bumps in their wake, before they settled on his biceps.

She squeezed, he groaned and rolled so he was to the hilt. Dropping down on one forearm, Bokuto let his head rest against her collarbone. (Name) whined, hips shifting against his stationary form. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing kisses against her skin as a means of punctuation.

(Name) tangled the fingers on one hand in his hair and tugged, moaning at the sensation of being so full of him and him alone. At the tug of her hands in his hair, he began his assault, rutting their hips together in hard and deep and _fast_ strokes that pummeled her insides, leaving her a whining mess beneath him

Her third release came hard and fast, the writer shivering against the hot and hard body of the man above her as he bit down into the bend of her shoulder as he chased his own relief. 

There was a moment of hesitation as his hips canted forward, hips slapping against her as his mind cleared - if but for a moment - and he pulled out. Thick ropes of white coated her stomach and Boktuo groaned, dropping his head to her sternum. 

Bokuto wheezed a laugh, all before finding the strength to lift his head and smile. 

"Love you." 

(Name) kissed him again. 

Wordless. 

And Bo swore his heart _soared_. 

* * *

He woke up next to her, coming to consciousness just as the sun crested over the horizon and the firs streams of light flooded the lounge. 

Bokuto frowned.

They forgot to close the curtains the night before.

The sound of a honking car was far too loud and interrupted his train of thought.

Maybe they forgot to close the door as well.

(Name) pressed herself into his side, brows furrowing together ever so slightly.

“Too bright…” She groaned. 

Bokuto felt his heart skip a beat. 

Unlike the fleeting dream from the training camp, the sight before him filled him with something euphoric that made his chest tighten, made his palms clammy with sweat and anticipation.

He pulled her closer, moving to let his lips brush the crown of her head. 

If he were able to choose a place to die, it would be in this moment; the moment where everything beyond the four walls of the apartment meant nothing, and having her in his arms meant the world.

He could stay there forever, he was sure of it.

And he planned to, were it not for the chime of his phone from the bag that lay abandoned near the kitchen. 

He groaned. Would he _ever_ catch a break?

Untangling himself from the writer was difficult, but a necessary evil since he was sure that tone was a message and not an alarm. 

Soft footsteps padded across the floor, all before he stooped down to retrieve his phone and take in the new message. 

Tokyo FC practice had been pushed earlier since the gym would be undergoing an inspection during their normal time slot. 

Bo groaned and unlocked his phone, eyes flickering back and forth towards the woman on the couch as she slowly curled into herself. 

With a quick confirmation sent back the team's trainers, Bo sat on his haunches as he stared at (Name), taking in the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He couldn't keep the smile off his face, even with the disappointment of having his morning taken away from him. 

There were other ways to make it up to her, of that Bokuto was certain. The aftercare could wait, and (Name) would understand. 

He just hoped she wouldn't hold his abrupt disappearances against him when she finally woke up. 

* * *

(Name) awoke to sore hips and a strained neck.

She rubbed her eyes, propping herself on an elbow as she wiped the remnants of sleep away. The balcony door was closed and locked, and the curtains were drawn just enough to block out the summer sunlight. Most of her books and her laptop remained where she left them the night before when -

The memories rushed back into the forefront of her mind, dissipating the fatigue from her mind. 

“Bo?”

No answer.

Another sweeping glance of the lounge confirmed that the wing spiker was long gone.

As her feet touched the wooden floorboards, her gaze fell upon her favourite mug sitting amongst her creative debris, resting on its own little post-it note. Pressed up against the leg of the kotatsu was a plastic bag, the logo labelling it as something from the konbini down the road. She bent forward and moved the mug aside, taking note of how cold the coffee was before she retrieved the note.

_Morning practice for Tokyo FC last minute. I’ll be back by lunch. Got some breakfast in the bag. Take it easy for the rest of the morning. I love you._

(Name) breathed out a laugh, cheeks warming up as she stretched out her muscles. 

"Always going above and beyond," she mused, dropping the note into the bag before she stood up and slowly - so slowly - made her way to the bathroom to properly inspect the damage from last night's escapade. 

* * *

He wasn’t back by lunch, but in true Bokuto Koutarou fashion he called her the moment the clock struck noon.

“I’m not gonna make lunch,” his voice was low, apologetic, “my trainer noticed that my shoulder’s still a little tight from our last training session and I’m gonna go get it checked out now… Y’know how it is, we gotta make sure we’re all fit for Jakarta.”

(Name) shrugged to herself, sinking back into the couch while one had kept the phone pressed to her ear. “Take your time, m’just writing stuff.”

“Did you eat anything today?”

“Just the things you bought,” she answered, “I was gonna wait for you to have lunch… Pretty sure I have ramen in my pantry that can hold me over until dinner.” She hummed in contemplation. “Thank you for breakfast, by the way… It was nice.”

“I’ll be there for dinner, I promise.”

"It's just dinner. " (Name) scratched at her cheek. "I think I'll order from my usual noodle house. Their owner messaged me to check if I was alive since I hadn't ordered there in a while."

Bokuto laughed at her. “Then I definitely won’t miss it.”

“What? Good food?”

“A proper night in with you.”

(Name) felt her heart squeeze in her chest

“How was your morning?”

His voice dropped into a murmur, something she thought was not possible for someone like Bokuto Koutarou. She pulled her knees into her chest. 

“You don’t have to make conversation if you’re busy Bo.” She retorted, rolling her eyes in hopes that he could feel it.

“I’m never busy when it comes to you. And I wanna know about your morning - you said you were writing, yeah?” She hummed a confirmation. “Are you working on something different or on that poem from last night?”

The words at the end of his question rang in her eardrums, and a fleeting memory appeared in her mind. Him over her, her completely worn and spent and overheated and the faint ghost of an ‘I love you’, on his lips as he hovered above her.

 _Fuck_. Had it always been hot in her apartment?

“Something different,” she confirmed, praying her voice sounded normal enough. “A thought came to me for another thing I promised my editor.”

“That Mattsun guy?”

“The Hanamaki dude, the Mattsun guy is his boyfriend.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided that they were taking too long to settle.” Bokuto snorted at her. “It’s been, like, eight years; that romantic tension is probably through the roof.”

"I mean, you are the author. I trust that guess." He chimed at her, a soft chuckle rippling through the receiver on his end of the call. 

“Where are you right now?”

“Locker room, last of the guys just left.” There was the faint clang of a locker being shut. “Why?”

“I was just wondering why you started being quiet. It was either you were calling when you weren’t supposed to or you lost a bet with that Kuroo bro.”

“Kuroo isn’t on Tokyo FC, he signed to Panasonic with Oikawa.”

She hummed. “Thought you said he wouldn’t sign since he’s doing his Masters?”

“He’s still studying, but the Panthers apparently gave him ‘an offer I couldn’t refuse’.” Bokuto dropped his voice to imitate his friends, or at least that’s what (Name) assumed he was doing. Over a few months of friendship and she had yet to meet the middle blocker; not that she was complaining, if he was just as Bokuto described then she wasn’t in a hurry to do so. 

"I'll leave you to it." He continued, distant shuffling punctuating his farewell. "I don't want to keep you from writing. I'll let you know when I'm on my way over." 

She nodded and then hummed her approval. 

"Love you."

And then he was gone before she could give her answer. 

* * *

They ended up in each other’s brace that night, only this time the balcony door had been shut and they remained in the confines of her bedroom. 

(Name) settled on top of him, legs either side of his hips as she bounced to match the steady rhythm of his upward thrust. Fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck, and he looked up at her with the reverence someone would look at a holy figure with.

Apart from their laboured breathing, Bokuto murmured his litany of confessions into her ear, hands keeping their steady grip on her hips.

His mantra continued on, even when Bokuto coaxed another world-shattering set of orgasms through her body, even when she was spent and limp against his chest. 

Bokuto was there. And there he stayed. Even when sleep took her away from the clarity of his confessions. 

* * *

_Present_

“So you gonna tell me or am I gonna keep being in the dark?”

The wing spiker smiled, pulling himself out from his stupor. But the memories were enough to tip the middle blocker in the right direction. 

“Bro.” Kuroo clapped his friend’s shoulder, dragging him closer to his side. A curious look flitted across his face. “What’s the news, man?”

He laughed, scratching at the back of his neck as he blinked away the faint ghost of the writer’s bare body. 

“Things are finally looking up, I guess.”

Kuroo faltered, and Bokuto saw the blocker put two and two together.

“It’s not that writer, is it?”

Bokuto couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face.

“You official?” Kuroo pressed, squeezing his best friend’s shoulder.

He sighed, sheepish. “I mean, I said I love her but she hasn’t…” He waved a hand, dismissive. “She isn’t one to do those types of gestures, I guess. Not good with emotions or whatever.”

The blocker frowned. “But she’s a writer?”

“I know right? It’s really funny, but it’s kind of cute, watching her flub her words and stuff.” He grinned, dopey, as he and Kuroo walked over to the bench to grab the rest of their stuff and head home. 

Bokuto reached into his bag quickly and checked the time on his phone, mumbling a quick curse. “I gotta run, promised (Name) I would be there for dinner tonight.” With a quick wave, he threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started jogging towards the gym’s exit. “I’ll be back late tonight, don’t wait up!”

As he threw the door open, Bo took one last glance over his shoulder to send Kuroo a grin.

The blocker waved back.

Whether the spiker registered the brief apprehension was beyond him.

* * *

_June, 2018_

Towards the end of May, (Name) and Bokuto rescheduled their trip down to Osaka, the 4 day escapade needing to be rebooked when some last minute business came up for the writer concerning the press for ‘Dragon Tears’. And in order for them to have a new set of days free, Bokuto took to training more in the interim, discussing with his respective coaches in order to negotiate some more free time. And so their trip was for the end of June, a little closer to the peak of the summer season. 

But in turn, their time together in the lead up to their holiday was shorter, a little farther in between than what the pair had come to be used to.

Consequently, it left her to linger on the balcony in the peace of the summer nights, idly waiting and thinking of the steps that led her to this point.

It wasn’t exactly discomforting to have someone so _present_ in her life - especially when she was so used to having Hanamaki and Hisakawa on her ass at any given point of the day. But Bo was a demanding presence, if his hushed whispers in the darkness of the night were enough of a giveaway. Again, there was nothing inherently wrong with that - she knew what she was signing up for when she agreed to be friends with him so many months ago.

But to have most of her time monopolised was taxing, regardless of who it was occupying her attention. 

And so she found her small slice of heaven again on the balcony, even if she had to share it with the setter in the next apartment over. 

Oikawa had become a more prominent figure in her moments of reprieve, a sheer outcome from chance if she were perfectly honest. He was a nice change of pace, never asking or prying for more answers, never delving deeper into the exhaustion that was slowly settling across her body the longer she spent with him on their respective balconies. 

And while she also respected the boundaries they had formed after her unfortunate breakdown a few months prior, there were moments where she needed to press for answers, less Hanamaki Takahiro appear at her door and demand to know why the _fuck_ she wasn’t making sure the setter was looking after himself.

Case in point, that very evening when Oikawa hobbled out onto the balcony with an obvious limp before he collapsed into his usual seat, not bothering to look at the writer or give her any greeting.

She acted similarly, finishing off the rest of her beer while the setter continued to get comfortable, propping his leg up on the small table while the heel of his foot hook on the lip of the railing in front him. He relaxed into his chair, tipping his head back, all before sighing.

“You good?”

Oikawa nodded, tight lipped. “Knee’s just feeling a little weird this week. Got sent home from practice early and I’ve been booked in for a bunch of PT and therapy to make sure I’m not fucking up my recovery.”

She nodded, looking at his face briefly to take in the mild discomfort that settled on his features as he propped his leg up. 

“I mean, don’t overdo it.”

“Solid advice from the non-athlete.” He chided, but it did not have any bite behind the words. “Thanks, though. M’just trying to take it easy for now.”

“That’s good. You still have your eyes on the next competition, right?” He nodded. 

“Things were looking good for the most part so hopefully Coach decides to take a chance on me.”

“S’good. I’m glad it’s all starting to work out.”

He nodded, turning his torso ever so slightly so he could properly face her. “And you? Everything alright?”

(Name) nodded, “For the most part, yeah. Everything’s still picking up speed but m’trying to keep pace.”

“Being busy is better than being dead in the water.”

“That’s one way of looking at it-”

The doorbell to her apartment rang out, echoing through the empty walls of her apartment before the sound finally reached her on the balcony. Oikawa’s lip quirked up, teasing. 

“Unexpected guests?”

She shook her head, disguising her sigh as a laugh. “No just, forgot I had plans tonight. Really wanted a night to myself.”

“No chance of rescheduling?”

“Not for this guy.” She stood up, stretching out the tension in her lower back. “Same time tomorrow?” 

He nodded. “If I don’t get too caught up with my PT.”

“Please don’t break your knee, Hanamaki _will_ blame me and I don’t think I’d survive the death he would deliver me.”

“All the more reason to do it.” Oikawa laughed, giving her one last wave before the writer retreated inside, sliding the door shut and closing the curtains in the same moment. The doorbell rang again, forcing her to hasten her steps towards the _genkan_ as she unlocked it for her guest.

“Impatient, much.” She scolded softly as she opened the door, letting her body be immediately engulfed with the heavyweight of Bokuto Koutarou as he wrapped himself around her, pushing her back in the entrance and slamming the front door shut behind him with his foot. She fisted her hands in his shirt, breathing out an airy laugh as the spiker let his lips trace up the curve of her shoulder, neck and chin all the way to her cheek. “Miss me?”

“So much.” He murmured, all before sealing her lips in a quick kiss. “Haven’t properly seen you in a week.”

“We’re going on a holiday in two weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean m’not allowed to miss you.”

(Name) shook her head as she let her arms wrap around his shoulders and neck. 

No, it didn’t. 

The bag Bokuto had fell to the floor, and in the same moment, he swept her up, wrapping her legs around his waist while one hand pressed her against him by the lower back. He pressed his forehead against hers as he removed his shoes and stepped up into the main hallway. “I know I promised dinner but d’you mind if we have an early night? Little tired. Need to recharge.”

She shook her head, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. “Sounds great to me.”

"Perfect." Bo mumbled, adjusting his grip on the writer wrapped around him before he plodded down the familiar path to her bedroom. 

* * *

It got harder for Oikawa to keep track of the woman next door, and whether or not they were still on decent terms with each other.

The drama with (Surname)’s father a few months back and the silent admission of her own self hatred and insecurities was enough to tip the scales in favour of them being okay. The reality that she was just as fallible as he was made their current connection less of a stressful one. But life was always in a precarious balance. Who knew if the next time they saw each other would throw the scale one way or the other.

Thankfully, his knee was doing a lot better as well. As often as Oikawa told himself he wasn’t a child - that he was a grown ass adult that didn’t need to be lectured - he felt guilty when the _author_ of all people came to reprimand him about his habits. Yes, it was most likely because she herself was operating under Makki-Makki’s orders to be civil and keep an eye on him, but feelings were feelings, and one doesn’t often choose when and where they decide to rear their heads. 

And yet despite that, she didn’t meet him on the balcony the following day. Or the day after that. Or the one following that.

From what _little_ information he extrapolated from Mattsun’s complaining, her work picked up with the new runs for the most recent release, which meant Makki was working longer hours and was spending less time with his boyfriend-not-a-boyfriend. Which made sense, really, what if the signs of fatigue he noticed her wearing prior to her disappearance from their routine. It was a return to her earlier disposition when they first met, and while on the one hand that could be comforting, to Oikawa it was anything but.

Especially concerning the unnamed guest who had disrupted their last evening together.

And so when Makki came in place of Mattsun for their monthly “Make Sure Oikawa Hasn’t Died” check-in, the setter sought to ask about her.

If anyone were to know what was going on, it would be the writer’s very own editor. 

“You haven’t worked dear old Writer-chan into an early grave, have you?”

Makki rolled his eyes and he sipped on his tea, the deep furrow in his brow growing a little deeper. “You should be concerned about _me_ ,” he wheezed all before collapsing further back into the sofa, “but no, she’s doing a little better than I am right now. Hisakawa has been ramping up on what she needs to do for promotion and (Surname) _hates_ doing that stuff. And like, the demand for the book keeps going up and up and that means we have to do more print runs and more press and its-”

He heaved, shutting his eyes as completely relaxed.

“Better to be working hard than hardly working.” Oikawa supplied.

“To an extent. I do manage other clients though so it’s a little stressful right now… But (Surname) is fine.” Makki cracked an eye open. “Why, is something wrong?”

Oikawa shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, letting his head bob from side to side as he responded. “Just haven’t seen her recently. Thought I might’ve pissed her off again.”

The light-haired man snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past you... We’ve just been swamped. She’s gone home to Osaka for the weekend though so hopefully she can rest up and come back ready for more bullshit.”

The setter blinked. 

"Osaka?" 

Makki nodded, an amused smile quickly appearing on his face. “The prodigal child finally returns home. And with _Bokuto Koutarou_ of all people to be the one to make her -”

"Wait, _what_?" 

The editor cracked an eye open, brow quickly furrowing as he looked at the setter sitting next to him. 

“(Surname) and Bokuto-san. They’ve been dating for a few months now.” Makki let his head loll over to the left, stretching the muscles on his right side. “You’re the one who lives next door, how did you not know?”

Oikawa opened his mouth to answer - to tell him that it was difficult to understand the cues and prompts from _normal_ people, let alone annoying, stubborn, eccentric writers who may or may not hate him - but he quickly stopped himself.

Because it was _then_ in that very moment that things finally began to add up.

The frequency that Writer-chan had begun to receive guests at weird hours of the night, nothing dissimilar to his own arrival to their apartment building. The reluctance - almost defeat - when it came to one of the more common guests, almost as if they were a force to be reckoned with. The music that echoed through their shared wall - though muffled as it was - that played such familiar melody from so many months ago. The way Tarou-chan had been in such a good mood whenever they had National team practice together. The speed with which he hurried to leave practice without another word of explanation. The way Tetsu-chan had taken to look at him with an almost sympathetic look -

It wasn’t sympathy, Oikawa learnt. It was a look of apology. 

‘I’m so sorry you have to listen to that when you get home.’ 

Oikawa bit down on the flesh of his cheek as he answered, “Never noticed.”

Not a complete lie.

But not an inherent truth either. 

“Did _she_ tell you?”

A brief look of hesitation passed over the editor’s face. “Not entirely. She just goes out a lot with him and I’ve caught him staying over when I’ve been around to collect materials from her. It’s not hard to put 2 and 2 together.”

Oikawa bobbed his head once. 

It really wasn’t now that he had done exactly that.

But he wouldn’t admit that, not to Makki in the very least.

“A pretty odd couple…” Oikawa murmured. 

“Very.” Makki affirmed. “But she seems a lot happier with him, so who am I to judge?”

Oikawa bit his tongue, but hummed in agreement all the same.

From what brief instance of weakness _he_ saw...

Maybe Makki-Makki _didn’t_ know his editor as well as he assumed he did.

* * *

It wasn’t that (Name) _hated_ Osaka.

Rather she hated the possibility of being seen by someone she wasn’t particularly fond of seeing.

Her father, for example.

(The only example, but that was beside the point.)

But for Bo, she would risk it, would indulge him if it meant he was happy.

The first few days of their trip were spent sight-seeing, indulging in the tourist traps that Bo wanted to do. And while it was a worthwhile distraction, there was still the gnawing need to tie up the lingering loose end that (Name) had left hanging for so long.

Apologising to Makoto.

(Name) missed Makoto, and though she was steadily growing used to the affection and attention of others, she couldn’t help but crave the familiarity that Makoto had.

Maybe it was the nostalgia of being home.

Actually, it probably _was nostalgia_ if she was being honest with herself.

But the apology was long overdue, months in the making and almost forgotten in the whirlwind that was her rather unfortunate existence of the year 2018.

From what she remembered from her last visit, Makoto moved out of Tennoji in south Osaka where they both grew up and into the northern division of the prefecture, close to the Umeda business district.

The move baffled the writer - who would _willingly_ move away from the suburbs for the hustle and bustle of a metropolitan area?

(Technically she had, but then again she moved to Bunkyo - the ward where nothing really happened. It definitely wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black - more like a kettle criticising another kettle for not being smart about their adult choices.)

And so on the morning of their third day, (Name) sought to rip the bandaid off, dragging Bokuto along with her more moral support.

“Y’know I’m proud of you.” Bokuto murmured as they stepped out of the elevator, lifting her hand that he was holding to his lips to press a kiss against the back of it. “It takes a lot to apologise but you’re doing it and I’m really proud.”

(Name) sighed, eyes fluttering shut as she began to mentally prepare for the long conversation she knew she would have when confronting Makoto. “Here’s hoping she actually accepts.”

Bokuto paused, pulling (Name) to the little alcove of the hallway before it continued to the right. 

“She will.” He affirmed with a comforting smile. “And if she doesn’t then hey, we keep enjoying the rest of our vacation - just you and me.”

The writer nodded, only a little hesitant.

"I can wait here for you. Just come grab me when you're all done." 

He squeezed her hand against, all before letting their fingers unwind from each other and drop between them; a signal that he was giving her some privacy - some distance - in order to focus. So she nodded and stepped away, a brief wave as a promise to back soon before continuing to the last apartment on that side of the building. 

The writer rapped her knuckles on the door three times in quick succession, stepping away from the door quickly as she heard the sounds of hurried footsteps coming from inside the apartment.

A half second later, the door swung open and the wind from the speed with which the owner opened it washed over her. 

"(Name)!" 

Makoto chirped as she held the door open wider, propping it open with her hip and one hand.

It made the writer frown for a moment as she took in the response. 

Why was she _happy_ to see her?

“I’m an ass, and you don’t have to forgive me, but just know that I am really sorry I ever took you for granted and treated you as a lesser friend. You mean a lot to me, and I want you to know that even if we don’t continue down this path as friends, I’ll remember the years we had as some of my best.”

She blurted out quickly, choosing to ignore the look of relief and amusement and giddiness that doned the woman’s face. It left her mouth like a torrent of water, gushing forth from a leak in the dam that was her mind. The words swirled around in the air, permeating around them like a winter god. Better to get everything out now than to drag this out, she thought.

Makoto blinked, mouth curling into a smile.

“You’re _actually_ in Osaka.”

(Name) felt all prior confidence dissipate from her body, only to be immediately replaced by a slight irritation.

“No, I’m an illusion and this is all a weird hallucination inflicted by a rare fever dream.”

Makoto waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head in tandem with each flourish of her hand. “I _mean_ , I didn’t think you were back on this side of the country.”

The writer opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again to wonder-

“Did someone tell you that I was going to be here?”

“Ichiro said he saw you in Dotonbori the other night and I thought he was crazy.” She punched the writer in the shoulder, knuckle hitting her end of her collarbone. “I can’t believe you actually came all the way here to apologise-”

“It’s a little more for pleasure than personal matters…” (Name) interjected, gaze darting in the direction where she left Bokuto. “Figured this was way too overdue, and I was already here so…”

Makoto folded her arms across her chest. (Name)’s heart tightened and she swore her blood stopped moving for a moment.

“Y’know, I was purposely ignoring you.”

“As expected when you’re angry.”

She shook her head. “But that’s the thing; I stopped being angry pretty quickly and just kept ignoring you.”

The writer blinked, very tempted to walk away without another word. But she willed herself to stay, to make sure she heard the full story like any normal person would.

“I know you, (Name), and you’re a private person even to the best of us so you had every right not to tell me what was wrong. It’s who you are, and I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you for that. And like, I know that _I_ was allowed to be upset over the fact you kept secrets from me, but we’ve been friends for a long time…So I was waiting for you to come down here and apologise and mean it. And knowing you, you wouldn’t come anywhere near Osaka if you didn’t have an actual reason to fall back on if you were to chicken out of apologising.”

(Name) frowned. “What made you so sure that would happen?”

“I didn’t. It was a gamble. But it paid off.”

“It was a stupid gamble.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Not entirely for you.” She admitted.

“I know.” Makoto was grinning madly now. “Which means you’re here for something _else_ and I was right you selfish bitch, I’m so proud!”

A pair of arms pulled her into the other woman’s chest, the sides of their heads knocking together from the force of the sudden embrace. (Name) stumbled in, but still let her arms wind around the torso of her friend.

And while she was elated because all of her worries and concerns faded into nothing, she was also slightly angry at the situation that had been laid out before her. 

She had this all planned out.

Perhaps Makoto was hiding much more than (Name) originally anticipated.

That bitch.

“So who is it!”

Makoto pulled herself away from the writer, staring deep into her best friend’s eyes as if searching for the answer preemptively.

“Eh?”

“Who’d you sacrifice your dignity for?”

(Name) bit her tongue briefly - weighing out her options as to whether or not she should really do this - before calling back down the hall for-

“Bokuto, everything’s alright.”

The look of confusion and shock that appeared on Makoto’s face was not missed by the writer as the pair watched the spiker round the corner and take large and hurried strides towards the apartment, a wide grin across his face as he made his way towards them. 

Makoto took a step back as Bokuto sidled up to the writer’s side, draping his arm back around her waist and tugging her in. “Hi, I’m Bokuto Koutarou, (Name)’s boyfriend. You’re Makoto, right? It’s lovely to meet you!”

The spiker extended his hand out to the woman in the doorway. Whether he noticed the brief look of confusion that flittered over her face at the word ‘boyfriend’ was beyond (Name). She trained her gaze to Makoto, who briefly adorned her own confused expression before it faded into her usual warm grin. She slipped her hand into the spiker’s giving it one firm shake.

“That’s me! I hope (Name) hasn’t been giving you too much trouble - you know how she is, stubborn and all that.” 

Bokuto laughed, thumb digging into (Name)’s hip before he began to rub small circles into the skin. “No, no! If anything I’m the one that is giving (Name)-chan grief,” he tilted his head so he could rest it on the crown of her head.

Makoto laughed and held the door open a little wider. “Did you two want to come in? I could probably wrangle some breakfast for us.”

“I wouldn’t wanna impose or anything,” Bo laughed, making Makoto shake her head quickly.

“If you two are dating then I _need_ to tell you all the embarrassing stories about little (Name)-chan during school.”

“(Name)? Embarrassing herself? Now _that’s_ a story I want to hear.” Bokuto looked down at the writer, nudging his head towards the door. “Unless you want to save face? I can pretend that I never heard anything.”

She scoffed. “You would find a way to guilt stories out of me.”

Makoto held a hand out, quickly waving at Bokuto into the apartment. “Quick, before she changes her mind!”

Bokuto laughed, letting his arm slip away from her waist and instead grab at her arm to tug her along. He winked as he pulled at her forearm, pressing his thumb into her pulse point right where the curve of her wrist bled into her palm. 

(Name) smiled up at Bo, pointedly ignoring the way Makoto’s eyebrows waggled suggestively as they walked into the entrance. 

She knew that at some point during their meal she would be interrogated. 

But she didn’t expect it to come hard and fast in the interim between conversation when Bokuto ducked out to answer a call from his trainer. 

“What happened with Oikawa-san?”

(Name) frowned, poking at her food. “Nothing? He’s still my neighbour?”

Makoto leant forward, voice dropping into a low and conspiratory whisper. “But you liked him, right? There was so much romantic tension between you two?”

The writer couldn’t stop the grimace from appearing on her face. “We’ve only _just_ gotten on good terms, what fucking ‘tension’ did you see in the five minutes you knew him?”

She scoffed. “He’s hot. You’re hot. He’s successful. You’re successful.”

“The bar is so low that I’m surprised we can still see it-”

“I’m just saying,” Makoto hissed in annoyance, “that I genuinely thought there was something going on there. "

The writer did nothing to hide the frown on her face. "Well obviously you were wrong."

"Obviously," Makoto bemoaned, "and now you're with Mr Tall, Thick, and Handsome?" 

“I’m-” (Name) poked her tongue in her cheek, pausing to recollect her thoughts. “We’ve been together for a few months now.”

“And is it serious?”

She shrugged. “He hasn’t left yet.”

“He said he was your boyfriend - you’re using _titles_?”

“I’ll be honest, that was a new occurrence for me too.” 

“But you’re not, like, put off by it?”

“Not really, no.”

Makoto nodded thoughtfully. “He must really be something else if you’re being so relaxed about how fast you’re moving.”

(Name) didn’t have time to respond, not when the sound of Bokuto thumping back towards them from down the hall ceased their conversation.

Because Bokuto Koutarou _was_ something else entirely, and while foreign wasn't necessarily something bad, it was often hard to grapple with.

* * *

_July, 2018_

He didn’t miss her. 

Not at all.

How do you miss someone you don’t really know?

* * *

Very easily, apparently.

Oikawa grumbled to himself as he threw the door to his apartment open, leaning against the body next to him for support. Reluctantly, of course; weakness was not accepted in his household.

Iwaizumi propped the door open a little wider, letting the taller male pass by him with a little more ease. The ace’s arm was behind his lower back, ready to catch him in case the latter stumbled. 

On other days Oikawa would have cracked a joke about the good old days - about how nothing really changed and how he always seemed to need his Iwa-chan around.

Today was not one of those days.

It hadn’t been one of those days in a _while_.

They fumbled towards the kitchen, but not before Iwaizumi abandoned the setter on the couch and ordered him to stay there. Oikawa protested amidst the throbbing pain in his knee, and the former picked up on it immediately.

“This is my apartment Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reminded.

“I’m older.”

“I’m taller.”

“And I’m _still_ older so shut up.”

And he did.

For a while.

Iwiazumi returned with a tea towel tied into a small bag, and from the wet spots that patterned the material Oikawa could tell what was inside. There was no preamble or warning when the spiker slapped the makeshift ice pack on to the tender skin of the setter’s knee.

The ice clung to his skin, and Oikawa could not help but hiss at the jolt of cold that ran up and down his veins. 

“That’s what you get for pushing too far.”

Oikawa didn’t answer, instead choosing to hide the frown that was threatening to appear on his face.

The silence unnerved Iwaizumi, but it gave the man enough time to analyse the situation.

“Did the aliens finally probe you?” Although there was amusement in his best friend’s tone, Oikawa could easily separate it from the subtle concern that lay underneath. “You’ve been spacing out too much.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” It was non-committal, and the response made Iwaizumi grunt as he flopped down on the sofa adjacent to the setter.

“Y’know you’re lucky it was _me_ that found you and not your coach or trainer. They’d have probably strung your neck by now.”

Oikawa shrugged with one shoulder, pushing the memory of being slumped up against the wall of the gymnasium from his mind. “It’d be lucky if my knee wasn’t on fire right now but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

“What happened?”

“I worked too hard.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Yeah, thanks Captain Obvious, I figured as much. But what’s the reason?”

“No reason required.”

“Yes there is.”

“Since when?” 

“Since forever.” Iwaizumi folded his arms. “You only fly off the handle when something’s going on in our head, so I’m going to need an answer.”

“Isn’t Tobio-chan’s presence during practice enough of a reason?”

“Not when you’re a functioning working adult in society, no.”

The setter frowned.

“You can’t avoid answering me, Oikawa, I know what I saw.”

He had a point, Oikawa knew that it was hard to cover up the look of anguish and pain he knew he was wearing as he scrambled to stay upright on his way to the locker room.

Ryuujin Nippon’s practice ended and the setter opted to stay back for a while longer, just to make sure the groove he found while practicing his serves was not some stroke of luck. It hadn’t been - much to his delight - but to his chagrin, discovering that forced his knee to buckle and a familiar pain to shoot up from the bend of the recovering joint. 

He found the strength to stand, but barely made it halfway before Iwaizumi found him. How the man was in the right place at the right time was _beyond_ Oikawa, but his friend said nothing as he immediately took up the space by his side and hurried him along.

Oikawa could have blamed the fumble on anything, really. Insecurity came to the forefront of his mind.

But instead of his concerns about his career, he saw the familiar silhouette of the writer next door curled around the body of one of their top spikers, heard the way said spiker spoke about her to their team - with such pride and adoration and lo-

“They’re dating.”

Iwaizumi blinked. “Who?”

“Tarou-chan and Writer-chan.”

The tanned man nodded as he absorbed the words. “And you care, why?”

Oikawa inhaled sharply, letting his top lip curl around his top row of teeth as he did so. 

He didn’t know. Not really.

But there was _something_ about their situation that rubbed him the wrong way… Something that was nagging at him after he had found out about their affair from his conversation with Makki. 

So he didn’t answer. 

He unclenched his palms - Oikawa hadn’t even realised he balled his hands into fists - as the questions and accusations that once clouded his mind last month returned in that very moment. 

Iwaizumi tilted his head, eyes trained on the setter just like he had been so used to doing in their youth, watching as the thoughts in his mind visibly appeared in flashes across his facial features.

But above all else, above the emotions he barely registered, Iwaizumi recognised the anger and frustration. And the way they translated in the situation suddenly made everything else clear.

Something tightened in his chest.

“You love her, don’t you?”

The air went stale around them. Dusty. Warm.

Uncomfortable.

His mouth dried, the sensation of cottonmouth emerging amidst the floundering caused by the question. 

“I-I am _not_ in love with (Surname), Iwa-chan!”

“That’s exactly how you tend to deny the truth, Assikawa.”

“I don’t love her.” He stressed, words coming out in a hiss.

There was a cold-hearted look in his eye, a serious one that said he was telling the truth, but Iwaizumi knew better. Oikawa had always been hard to read when it came to Vulnerability and Emotions - but he’d known him long enough to know when he was in love.

Especially since this was the first time the ace had even seen his best friend like this.

Completely defensive.

Smitten.

In _pain_ over the reality of never.

“You can’t love someone you barely even talk to Iwa-chan.” Oikawa countered quickly, moreso for himself than for the spiker. He needed to tell himself that, remind him of the facts of the situation-

“Then why do you keep looking at the balcony?”

His heart stopped, and Oikawa _swore_ he heard Iwaizumi scoff under his breath. 

“You love her. You don’t have to lie to me. It’s just us here.”

Oikawa didn’t answer.

“You can’t blame me for assuming, you’re awfully invested in your neighbours relationship.”

“We haven’t even talked enough for me to have _any_ _feelings_ for her; she’s a hassle.” He folded his arms. 

“So if you aren’t in love with here then why do you care so much? What could possibly be beneficial to you in this situation?” The words were strangled, strained, as if Iwaizumi couldn’t believe he had to entertain the lies Oikawa had himself (almost) believing.

The setter paused.

What _was_ the reason he cared so much?

(‘You can’t miss someone you barely know,’ he reminded himself bitterly.)

He blinked.

Obligation.

“Mattsun and Makki like her, and I have to be nice to her and make sure she’s okay since we’re neighbours. And if she’s anything like me then she won’t like getting fucked around with.”

“And that’s what you think is going to happen? That Bokuto will just mess her up?”

“He talks like they’ve been dating for years.” He explained, letting his body relax ever so slightly as he spoke. “Brings her up at practice to the guys when they aren’t even public yet.”

Iwaizumi said nothing, and instead leant in closer to him - a silent sign to continue. 

“A few months ago, (Surname) told me that she hated how fast her career was going. That she didn’t want anything to do with the attention and acclaim that she was getting from her success. That if given the chance, she would give it up if it meant she could be _happy_ with where she was. Makki and Mattsun go on about how we’re so similar, but we really aren’t. She just wants to take things easily in her stride… She’s not built to crash through life head first like I want to.”

“And this relationship…”

“Makki told me about it last month. Said that (Surname) was doing better because of it. But from everything I saw before we stopped talking, she was more tired than I had ever seen her. She’s running headfirst into this and it’s with Bokuto Koutarou of all people - the _one person_ who doesn’t understand the concept of _existing_ for the sake of existing. And I don’t know if he gets that. And if he doesn’t then it’ll ruin her and then _we all_ will have to deal with that outcome.”

They held each other’s gazes, both taking turns to regard the other in their current states.

What Oikawa said wasn’t a complete lie, but Iwaizumi knew that it wasn’t the whole truth either. But there was only so much he could get the stubborn setter to admit, or at least realise about himself. 

So he dropped the topic, startling his best friend with the speed at which he changed gears, with the way he seemingly forgot about his interrogation and chose to be pleasant.

He would figure it out later, he thought to himself later that evening, there would be another time for future sleuthing - just not when Oikawa was not in a good place mentally. 

* * *

It was a few days after she returned from Osaka that he appeared at her door, hours after their mutual acquaintance had left her pantry empty of its contents.

She hadn’t bothered to try and make herself presentable for Mattsun, so she only assumed that the man in front of her would be just as lenient with her laziness.

(He’d already seen an altercation with her father, what was an unkempt mess of bed hair in comparison?)

“Ah, Iwaizumi-san, yes?’

The tanned male nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“(Surname)-san, nice to see you. Are you well?”

“As well as I can be.” She replied. “Would you like to come in?”

He nodded, murmuring his apologies for intruding before they both made their way inside. Mere minutes passed and they were both on the couch, respective drinks in hand and the TV volume down to a minimum.

“To what do I owe the pleasure then, Iwaizumi-san? Mattsun left not too long ago and Hanamaki hasn’t been back here in a few days so it can’t possibly be for them.” 

“Is it wrong to check in on you?”

‘It is when our first and last and _only_ encounter was under unsavoury circumstances that were underpinned by a lie.” She answered. “Thank you, though. I appreciate your help that night. It was fortunate that we already have a believable connection.”

He sipped on his water. “I follow up on things, regardless of who or what, so it only makes sense that I check if you’re good. Mattsun and Makki don’t give useful details.”

“They’re both useless, really. They’re only good for eating my food and barging into my apartment.”

He hummed in agreement, not meeting her gaze. It almost amused her, a man of his stature seemingly intimidated by someone as horribly underwhelming as her.

“You’ve been talking to Oikawa, right?” He spoke, hands tightening around the sides of his glass. She nodded, and he caught the movement from the corner of his eye. "Have you noticed anything weird about him recently?" 

(Name) thought for a second and shrugged, “we really haven’t talked face to face in a while so I wouldn’t know. It’s a little hard to cross paths these days.”

The male pulled his lips into a tight line. “ I see…”

“Do you always play the concerned friend?”

“When it comes to the idiot next door, yeah. Makki and Mattsun, not so much.” (Name) hummed at his sentiment. “Even when you ddi talk frequently, did you notice anything different about him?”

“In what way?”

“Like, mentally… Is he doing okay?”

She clicked her tongue. “Frankly speaking, I don’t think I’m in a position to determine whether or not Limpy is mentally sound or not.” She placed her drink down on the kotatsu. “He seemed like he had his shit together some days. Certain _sounds_ I hear from next door tell me that maybe he’s a bit of a hot mess, but again I wouldn’t really know.”

Iwaizumi nodded, forlorn. 

“Ah, okay…”

She blinked.

“He’s not doing so hot, is he?”

“He has his moments. Some days he’s fine, but recently from what I hear he has been nosediving a little too hard.”

(Name) watched as the man in front of her lapsed into a thoughtful silence, staring at this reflecting in the liquid. It was a different Iwaizumi compared to her impression of him so many months ago. The strong-headed, calm and collected man was replaced with a doting friend, one with the aura of a person at his wits end with what he should do next.

And she watched him, she saw it, a give - a tell into the person she didn’t necessarily intend to examine that evening.

The world seemed to quiet down around them.

(Name) narrowed her eyes.

“So tell me, Iwaizumi-san… How long have you been in love with Oikawa?”

The music of the variety show was drowned out in the silence that pounded in their eardrums, a tense atmosphere slowly permeating around them.

“How’d you guess?”

The man’s voice was level, even, unperturbed by the revelation of his secret. The writer shrugged at his question.

(Name) prided herself on her ability to notice details and the way they conveyed emotion. Every micro-movement was a dead giveaway of the inner wellbeing of her subject.

Iwaizumi Hajime was no different. 

THe way he approached her so cautiously was enough of a giveaway - and even though it was similar to Hanamaki’s original approach, there was a distinct difference; her editor was not as invested in the setter’s overall wellbeing.

And the more she stared at the spiky-haired man, the more she recognised the expression that adorned his rugged features.

The olive green eyes lightened into gold, and imposed on his expressionless mouth was one of a bright smile.

Bokuto looked at her in that very same way, of that she was certain.

She quickly squashed the strange lurching feeling in her chest.

(It was terrifying to see it worn by another person.)

“Is it that obvious?”

She blinked.

“Writer’s Instinct. I guess I just knew what I should be looking for.” 

As Iwaizumi opened his mouth to answer, (Name) quickly cut him off.

“Wanna hold that thought?” He arched a brow at her. “I have a feeling we’ll need stronger stuff.”

The ace paused with a curt nod, watching as the writer hurried to the kitchen without another word. There were a few clangs and then she wasm back, two new cups in her left hand while she choked the neck of a sake bottle with the right. 

Iwaizumi scoffed. “Y’know, Mattsun was telling me that he thinks you’re developing a problem.”

“What Mattsun doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she reasoned, sitting at the kotatsu and tucking her feet beneath the inactive heater. She set the items down and began to pour two shots worth of sake into both cups before she slid one over to his side. 

The spiker took a seat next to her, stopping the glass from sliding all the way off the edge. He held it between a set of fingers, spinning it slowly as if inspecting it for clues before he decided it was safe. As he did, his grip tightened.

“Generous.”

“Could be,” she took a sip, “or I’m just looking for more answers, who knows?” 

Iwaizumi hummed.

“You were saying?”

The teasing look on his face vanished, immediately being replaced by one of dismay.

“I was trying to keep all that emotional bullshit on the down-low.” He propped his chin up on his hand. “I mean, I kept it quiet for like two decades, I had a good run.”

The writer let out a low whistle. “Twenty years, that’s impressive.”

“You were still able to see through it.”

“Like I said, I know what to look for.”

Her curiosity ebbed for a moment.

“So from childhood or?”

The ace ran a hand through his hair, “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Oikawa Tooru has been a pain in my side for as long as I can remember. He was a cry-baby who figured out new ways to whine, but he was around, and I guess that was enough.”

“Cute.”

“He’s an ugly crier.”

“I’d believe that, yeah.”

“And then we got into volleyball - he played setter and I played wing, and that was more than enough to stick by each other.”

“What, not the whole ‘known each other since birth’ thing?”

“Like I said, he’s an ugly crier.”

She snorted.

“But we were younger back then,” Iwaizumi took a slow sip of sake.

“When’d you put a label on it?”

“The tail end of junior high, maybe… It’s hard to say, I had all the time in the world to figure it out back then. And then high school came and things changed again.”

She tilted her head.

“He got hot, the bastard. And girls started swooning and his ego got bigger while at the same time, he tried not being a big baby. He had his fair share of girlfriends and flings through high school but they weren’t anything real… That idiot always had his mind set on Ryuujin Nippon, on beating Ushijima and Kageyama and anyone else who stood in his way… And somewhere along the way I realised that I wanted him to notice _me_ instead.”

“You should’ve just kissed him, really, that gets the message across.” 

Iwaizumi snorted. “That’s a Makki thing to do; I actually have game.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.”

“So you settled for pining?”

“I was gonna tell him,” he argued, “I had it all planned out; we were going to beat Shiratorizawa at the Spring Inter-high and finally get to nationals, I was gonna tell him after the ceremony and have it be over and done with.”

“But?”

A sad smile spread across his lips.

“We lost. And his world was rocked in ways it didn’t need to be, he didn’t need _my_ bullshit on top of his own.”

Iwaizumi shotgunned the rest of his sake, making the writer furrow her brows together. 

“And then he got a recommendation to Chuo, and life took its course.” 

“But that’s even more of a reason to confess, isn’t it? Graduation, separating ways?”

“Did you expect me to give him my second button?” He asked sarcastically.

“Hey, that shit is sentimental and endearing as fuck.” She said, pointing her index finger at him accusingly.

“Sentimental and endearing, huh?”

She shrugged, finger still raised.

“I didn’t confess, obviously. But I did the next stupid thing.”

She waited. 

“I did everything in my power to go to Tokyo with him.”

(Name) frowned disapprovingly, “Iwaizumi-san…”

“I know, I know,” he growled, head dropped from his palm and resting on the cold wood of the kotatsu. “And then he got scouted by Ruujin Nippon mid-way through his first year at university and I just… I realised that no matter what was going to happen in this life, Oikawa Tooru would always leave me behind.”

(Name) propped her chin up with a hand, eyes darting over every inch of the man’s face as she continued to analyse.

“And yet you never found the need to get over him, huh?”

“We used to live together - moving out was my attempt.”

“Considering how often you seem to be around him, it’s like you never even left.”

“That’s only because of the knee injury - the idiot can’t look after himself so he makes me do it whether he is aware of it or not.”

“And even if he wasn’t injured?”

The spiker faltered, they both knew the answer to that question.

Iwaizumi Hajime would still be lingering around, regardless of the circumstances surrounding them.

She paused, a thought finally appearing in her mind. “Is he even-”

“Gay?” Iwaizumi poured himself another glass of sake. “I wasn’t so sure. If I’m honest, I’m still not…” He gunned the glassful once again, not a wince even as the alcohol burned his throat. “It’s hard to discern when he’s clearly in love with someone else.” 

The silence that quelled between them was deafening, but before (Name) could rise above it, Iwaizumi continued.

“He’s in love with you.”

(Name) would’ve choked on her drink had she not stopped tilting the glass. Instead she paused, the bitter liquid brushing on her upper lip as she remained stock-still.

“Oikawa is in love with you.”

He repeated it again - he didn’t need to, she heard him perfectly fucking fine the first time - but the way his eyes hardened was enough for her to know that he wasn’t doing it for her, it was for him.

As if he needed the reminder that his love had finally reached the point of no return.

The writer pulled the glass away, wiping the remnants of sake from her mouth with the back of her hand as she placed the cup back down.

“What is this, a shoujo manga?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, some days he looks like he walked straight out of one.”

“Your gay is showing, Iwaizumi-san.”

He kicked her in the shin.

“That still doesn’t answer the big fucking question.”

“Which is?”

“How the _fuck_ did you reach that conclusion?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to respond, only to have the words die in his throat as he took a good look at the expression the writer wore. 

It was, undoubtedly, the most animated he’d ever seen the woman that evening - perhaps, even in the time they’d known each other, easily beating out the fury and anger she adorned after the encounter with her father.

(Name was in disbelief, pure shock and confusion painting itself across every bit of free landscape on her face.

And then he saw it, the brief millisecond of dread, where her face paled and the light drained away from her face.

Because there was no logical and feasible way that Oikawa ‘Limpy’ Tooru was in love with her in any way, shape, or form. And she was already grappling with the reality of love and affection from someone who wasn’t the man he was in love with-

“Oikawa’s form has been crumbling, and _bad_ . The only thing that really coincides with it is the two of you falling a little out of touch and his discovery that you and Bokuto were together… He’s been distracted but,” he shook his head slowly, a saddened smile on his lips, “not like _this_.” 

(Name)’s shoulders and back locked in place. “I haven’t told anyone about mine and Bokuto’s circumstances.”

Iwaizumi’s lip twitched at the word, but he moved past whatever thought was threatening to bubble over. “You didn’t have to. Apparently Makki aired his suspicions about it… And Bokuto isn’t exactly keeping quiet about these new ‘circumstances’ he’s found himself in.”

She felt her heart stop at the revelation.

“No name-drop yet.” Iwaizumi quickly assured her. “But Shittykawa isn’t an idiot, he was bound to put things together with everything he knows.”

(Name) nodded thoughtfully at Iwaizumi’s remark. “Who’s to say that he isn’t the only one to figure it out?”

He didn’t have an answer - _couldn’t_ form an answer, really. 

“So what’s the point of this friendly chat of ours?” She questioned, leaning back on her hands. 

Iwaizumi sighed. 

“I wanted to know… I wanted to see if you felt the same way Oikawa did but now I see that that wasn’t the case.”

“And then what?”

“I was gonna take that as my cue to give up.” They locked eyes, and (Name) felt chills down her spine as the olive eyes hardened in intensity. “It felt like maybe I could step away from him, y’know? Like maybe this was fate’s chance to let me cut ties with the bastard but…” 

“But if I don’t love him then you don’t have to let go.” She finished for him, watching as his lips pulled together a little tighter. “It’s not healthy to hang on to something likes this, even if it is a first love.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“I’m not saying you didn’t. Just wanted to know if you were really going to let an asshole like me be the reason you stay unhappy? Cause trust me, I’m not worth whatever sacrifice you think I am.”

The man shook his head. “You aren’t as terrible as you think you are (Surname). Surely you don’t believe that.” She didn’t respond. “Trust me when I say I know Oikawa well - better than most people in our lives. And when I say he's different, I really mean that he's _different_. And, unfortunately, your presence in his life is the only thing changing right now."

She shook her head at him, an increasing adamance in the movement. 

“Whatever emotion he thinks he’s feeling is warped by the mystery of the unknown. He loves the idea of me, not _actually_ me.”

There was a brief flash of melancholy on Iwaizumi's face. “But isn't that just how we start falling in love?”

(Name) swallowed the lump that formed in her throat.

_Is it?_

“But Bokuto Koutarou, huh?” The reporter leant back a little, gaze darting between his drink and the writer. “He’s a very energetic guy - in _and_ out of a match.”

The writer exhaled, the breath turning into a shaky laugh as it escaped her. 

He wasn’t wrong about the energy. 

“I appreciate the confidence he emits.” She confirmed with a nod. 

“Isn’t that just a way of saying he completes you.”

“The same way Oikawa completes you?”

Iwaizumi laughed, bitter. “That’s love, isn’t it?”

(Name) refrained from frowning.

If she were being honest, she wasn’t even sure in the slightest.

“We all deserve love, Iwaizumi-san. Even Limpy. Even you.” She pressed, lifting a hand to pat the journalist's forearm. Iwaizumi didn't move, nor did he tense at the touch.

Instead he murmured out a soft “I’ll be off then”, all before he stood up and began his retreat out of her apartment.

She turned her body slightly, craning her head to follow his moving figure. 

“Oi, Iwaizumi.” 

His footsteps stalled, sock clad feet pausing against the floorboards.

“Don’t fuck it up for yourself… Even if I _was_ in love with the guy, you deserve a chance.”

(Name) watched as his shoulders sunk ever so slightly, her own saddened smile on her lips.

“Have a good night (Surname).”

He didn’t look back.

* * *

To say that Oikawa Tooru was a man of patience would be a lie.

He was a greedy person, a hungry man who wanted whatever the world could give him on a platter.

But life made him wait - his knee made him take things slower than he usually would - and if he was honest he thought there was no way his life would really be able to return to the tempo it once was.

Defeatist and realistic, unfortunately. 

Especially when his own hesitance was proven correct with one simple meeting with Coach Nagakaichi during morning practice for the National team. 

Bad news. Oikawa could _feel_ the regret in the air, could _see_ it lingering on the older man like a dark cloud. 

As much as they wanted to take him to Jakarta for the Asian Games, they didn’t want to risk it. 

“I’d rather have you ready for the FIVB Tournament,” was Nagakaichi’s justification. 

And while Oikawa _wanted_ to call ‘bullshit’ he knew it was a fair call. With how bad of a hit he’d taken earlier that month and the current uncertainty of his recovery, it was safer to keep him home where he could continue rehabilitation than to drag him along to the games as a pinch server of all things.

His place on the court was as their starting setter. Always had been, always would be.

He wouldn’t do anyone any good by taking up space on the bench.

So he took the rejection in stride and left again to complete his part in the practice session, holding his composure until he got back to his apartment where he quickly crumbled in the doorway.

From exhaustion or disappointment or depression, he wasn’t sure.

But _crumbling_ was weakness all the same, regardless of the impetus. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, slumped against the shoe closet in his _genkan_ , but his stupor was only disturbed by the rapid tap of a fist against his door.

He inhaled sharply as he found the strength to stand up on a shaky leg and hobble to the door to open it. 

“Iwa-chan," Oikawa did nothing to hide his surprise and discomfort at the situation blossoming before him, "I wasn't expecting you today."

The journalist frowned, brows pinching together as he took in what Oikawa could only assume was his very dishevelled demeanour. 

“I can come back another time…”

Oikawa shook his head, hobbling sideways to open the door a little wider. “S’okay. You came all the way out here, I don’t wanna inconvenience you.”

Iwaizumi scoffed as he entered, a glint of some curious emotion behind his eyes. “You? Wanting to cooperate? That’s the first.”

The taller man didn’t bother gracing his guest with a witty retort. "Did you want a drink? Tea? I just got back from practice-" 

"How was it?" Iwaizumi murmured as he stooped to pick up the abandoned back and bring it with him as he trailed further into the apartment, sock clad. "And water's fine."

The setter hummed in response as he made his way to the kitchenette, ignoring the sounds of Iwaizumi getting comfortable in the lounge as he tried to focus on how to lie about practice without-

'Who am I kidding,' he thought, disdain in his words, 'he'll figure it out anyway.' 

"They benched me." 

The shuffling in the next room ceased for a second. 

"You're kidding." 

"Just until the FIVB Tournament-" 

"That's still-" 

"I know." He grumbled, slamming the fridge door closed one he retrieved one of the water bottles from within. "But it's worth not having me out in Jakarta. Nagakaichi said." 

Oikawa trudged back into the lounge, dropping the bottle into Iwaizumi's lap as he cut between the coffee table and the couch to sit on the other side. 

As his back met the plush cushion beneath him, he sighed and let his head tip towards the back of the couch. 

"Which is fine." _No it wasn't._ "Gives me more time to recover from a few weeks ago." _Gives me more reminders that I am a big piece of shit who-_

"Are you sure you don't want some alone time?" Iwa-chan asked softly, rising to sit a little straighter. "I can come back-" 

"No, you're already here…" Oikawa heaved a breath out, a desperate last ditch attempt to take the bad thoughts away from him. When his monologue ended, he finally turned to face his best friend. "What'd you need?" 

Iwaizumi blinked silently to himself, fingers curling into his palms as he steeled himself. "Need to talk to you about something." 

"Ok…?"

“Don’t freak out.” He began.

“That’s the perfect way to get someone to freak out, Iwa-chan-”

“You can’t do your usual bullshit to avoid this, yeah?” He continued, not bothering to indulge him. “You just need to sit there and take it because you really need to hear this from me - and not anyone else.”

A dozen worst case scenarios entered Oikawa’s mind, a roulette wheel of options while his sanity became the peg that would determine the fate of what they were to be-

“I’m in love with you.”

Oikwaa blinked.

Then Iwaizumi.

Oikawa.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa-

“Can you run that by me again?”

Iwaizumi winced. “Didn’t realise that we weren’t speaking the same language, but sure alright then.”

Oikawa’s heart thumped rapidly against his ribcage, blood pressure rising and heat running up his neck and into his cheeks. 

Admittedly, he had never considered this possibility, never even entertained the thought of Iwaizumi Hajime of _all people_ to confess to him. 

And yet, despite acknowledging this, it didn't hurt Oikawa any less. 

Who else knew? 

_Did_ anyone else know? 

Makki? Mattsun? Most likely. They talked to Iwa-chan more about things that weren't his knee injury but-

Did they keep this from him on purpose? 

Not that there was much to gain from hiding a secret like this from him. 

Maybe to watch him squirm when it was revealed? 

No, those two Assholes weren't that sadistic. 

So then-

"How long?"

"I've been in love with you for a while." He confirmed. 

"Since-" 

"I don't think it takes much to fall in love." Iwaizumi interrupted, keeping his gaze towards the wall opposite him. 

The same one that separated his and the writer's apartment.

It didn't take a genius to understand what the man was implying. 

All in the same breath of his confession, no less. 

It brought a deep frown to his face, and a brief blip of anger quelled up in his chest, all before he forced it down. 

Lashing out wouldn't do anyone any good here. 

"I don't have feelings for her." He reiterated, hands balling against the fabric of his track pants. "I haven’t even thought of her since we last talked so you don’t need to try and convince me of a fact that does not exist.”

Oikawa refused to look at the man beside him; partially to stop himself from getting any more annoyed, mainly because that was a _blatant lie_ that he knew Iwa-chan would see right through it. 

“Of course.” He agreed, a single bob of his head signalling punctuating his sentence. 

The tone of his words riled the setter up all over again; he didn’t believe him anyway. 

“What would it matter anyway?” Iwaizumi continued, reclining back ever so slightly into the cushion behind him. “She’s with that Bokuto guy. Even if you _did_ want a chance with her, you’d probably be too late. She’d never stoop to your level.”

He couldn’t help the way his eye twitched at the jab; an obvious attempt at needling the setter into overstepping, into spilling his feelings out into the open-

As if he even _had_ those types of feelings concerning the writer. 

“And what about you?” Oikawa murmured, not wanting to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze. “Where do you go from here?”

“I’m not here to be your rebound if that’s what you’re thinking.” The spiky-haired man all but growled out. “And I’m not going to even _think_ about making a move on you until I know that you’re in a better place. M’not some asshole who takes advantage of someone when they’re in the middle of going through it… And I know _you_ aren’t the type either.”

Oikawa found himself nodding, even if he hadn't necessarily wanted to confirm the warped idea he would need a _rebound_ for a crush he definitely didn't have. 

"So then what?" He asked, barely a whisper above the silence of the room. "What even was the point of confessing to me if you weren't going to gain anything from it?"

From the corner of his eye, he watched the man swallow solemnly. 

"I didn’t need an answer." Iwaizumi reiterated firmly, the look in his eyes hardening slightly. "I don't need a rejection… I just-"

He stopped, heaving a sigh from deep inside his diaphragm.

“I didn’t want to keep living in a lie where I pretended I didn’t love you in the way I do.” His voice wavered, something that Oikawa never really considered possible when it came to Iwaizumi Hajime. "Sometimes you _have_ to take the risk you know might hurt you in the long run. Because the world changes faster than we want it too." 

At this, Iwaizumi turned to him, a glint of fire behind his green eyes. 

“So figure out what you want, and _fast_ , because some things - some _people_ \- don’t stick around forever.”

Oikawa kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched as he wrapped his heads around the insinuation. 

Iwa-chan didn't just mean Writer-chan. 

He meant everyone. Including himself. 

And just the _thought_ of being alone with himself set off a curling, choking dread deep in the depths of his stomach. 

“At the end of the day, I didn’t want this confession to change things if it didn’t _have_ to. I can handle you not loving me back - I accepted that idea from the moment I knew what I was feeling. And I can handle watching you fall in love with someone else, having a life with someone who isn’t me. I just-” the tension faded, if but for a moment- “I just want to make sure that _you_ had the best chance with someone who may even have an inkling of a desire to be with. Before being the man who is in love with you, I’m your best friend, and I want what’s best for you. And maybe what’s best for you is also what’s best for me.”

Something bitter and sad tugged on Oikawa’s heart, just enough to pull down his guard.

And then Oikawa saw it, the vulnerability his best friend never wanted to show people. The same expression from all those years ago at their last Inter-High Tournament.

_So where is this anger coming from?_

It wasn't _anger_. Not in the stereotypical boiling point bubbling over.

No, no it wasn’t that

Iwaizumi hadn’t taken him seriously.

There was nothing worse to Oikawa than having someone assume something about it without any grounds of how he felt.

The setter worried his bottom lip between his teeth. 

He knew this feeling now.

It was _frustration_ \- at the thought that he hadn’t a handle on his own emotions, that he needed a push in the ‘right direction’ through someone else’s example and sacrifice. 

As if he were a child that needed to have their feelings explained to him. 

“So what next?” He breathed out, turning his head to try and meet Iwaizumi’s gaze. 

“Considering the fact you don’t seem to love me back, I don’t want anything to change.” Iwaizumi shifted in place. “Which is selfish, all things considered. To be the one to drop a bomb on you and then request to have everything go back the way it was. But it’s the only way to go forward, right? We were best friends first and we still are; nothing changes that.”

A part of him wanted to press further.

But he stopped.

Just barely taken aback by the mere thought raised in the admission.

How could that request be selfish when Iwaizumi was so very clearly thinking of Oikawa at every step of the way?

It was so quintessential Iwaizumi-

“If that’s what you want, then what kind of person would I be to decline?”

“I mean, you’re already a Shittykawa so there wouldn’t be much difference.”

Oikawa whined, more of a noise than any coherent sentence, and just briefly from the corner of his eye did he see his best friend’s lips quirk upwards just a little. 

“I think I might head out.” Iwaizumi murmured, moving to stand up from where he sat on the couch. “Gotta head into work tomorrow and figure out my schedule for the next month.”

The setter clicked his tongue. “You’re going overseas to cover the Asian Games, aren’t you?”

“Most likely.” He shrugged, reaching out to grab the bottle that remained untouched on the coffee table. “If not then you better believe I’ll be watching you like a hawk so you don’t completely fuck your leg up.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you through the front door again.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as he began to exit, throwing a brief wave over his shoulder as he walked around the corner of the hallway and continued down towards the front door.

Oikawa pushed himself upright, hands planted on either side of the cushion he sat on as he bent himself over.

“Iwa-chan.” He called after him, listening for the sounds of shuffling in the _genkan_ to cease. “I do love you, y’know that right?”

There was a brief pause before Iwaizumi’s voice responded. 

“Yeah.” He affirmed. “But it won’t ever be in the same way I love you.”

He nodded, moreso to himself than for anyone else, and shifted his head, letting his gaze settle to the view beyond the balcony, just hidden by the drawn curtains that hid the doorway. 

He ignored the sounds of the door clicking shut, and the emptiness that blossomed in his chest.

* * *

_August, 2018_

By the end of July, the roadmap that lay before (Name) was a little stranger than she ever anticipated. 

The short lists for the Naoki and Akutagawa Prizes were the most prominent spanners in her gears. 

Her name appeared on both lists; the latter was an expected result, the former not so much.

‘Dragon Tears’ had been just as well received as ‘A Moth to Flame’; the critical reception had been on par with the debut work and the literary community had been harping on the obvious improvement in form and style that the woman displayed.

She anticipated the nomination and shorti listing; an Akutagawa was a logical second step after winning the Oe.

But it was the Noaki that caught people off-guard - even herself and Hanamaki and Hisakawa.

The nomination came for the anthology. Several articles called bullshit - frankly she did as well - because the short listing for both prizes took, at minimum, 6 months, and for a book that was only released at the end of June to be placed there was outrageous to most people.

To one, Bokuto Koutarou? Not so much. 

And so when August rolled around and the news that her anthology had won the Naoki Prize, her partner was more than ecstatic. 

His excitement was so very close to being infectious, the spiker often donning a proud grin whenever some mention of her awards appeared on any of his social media feeds. Bo sought to indulge her in what he considered a victory, insisted that she keep up with the sales of all of her works and let him know so that he could fully understand the breadth and scale of his girlfriend’s success. 

The coming of the Asian Games granted (Name) the opportunity for a reprieve, a much needed one if she were to be honest with herself. 

Bokuto was off representing Japan for the better part of the month, leaving (Name) alone to just _exist_ with her newfound success that rubbed her in all the wrong places. 

(Well not completely alone. Hisakawa and Hanamaki still unfortunately existed, and while she was used to having the latter run circles around her and barge into her apartment unannounced, having Hisakawa’s lingering presence whenever they were in the Kodansha Building.)

So she found herself reluctant to leave the apartment, all things considered, only venturing out when she _had_ to restock her pantry or for a required interview that one of the banes of her existence planned without her consent. 

While Doctor Nakamura had argued that her decision to stay inside was counterproductive to her recovery and healing, (Name) saw it as a much needed moment of reprieve.

She enjoyed having Bokuto around. His boisterous personality and generally palpable demeanour made for a distraction against the thoughts that swirled in her mind made it hard for her to _resent_ his constant desire to be present.

And despite their relationship, (Name) was still an introvert through and through - and being with Bo every hour of almost every day left her with very little moments to sit, relax, and recharge.

In that, (Name) found herself slipping back into the routine before her partner had entered her life. Drinking, writing, sleeping in - the three facets of her ‘before’ life returned without much fanfare or difficulty.

(She wasn’t too sure if that was a good or a bad thing.)

Regardless, she took to her hobbies - would one consider those hobbies? - like a duck to water, and found herself being called to her humble balcony once more.

(Name) was often alone.

Which was fine.

Until that one evening a little over a week after Bokuto had left for Jakarta.

The door of the balcony next door slid open, the whistling of the wind passing through the brief gap in the doorway as the body of her neighbour stepped out into the light of the setting sun. 

“You want company?”

Oikawa asked, sitting down into the chair on the left side of the balcony, keeping his eyes forward as he did.

“I mean, I can’t really stop you in your own apartment.” She replied, swirling the pale liquid within the aluminium can she held in her hand. “How’s life?”

“Shitty.” He scoffed. “I should be out in Jakarta with the team but I’m stuck here.”

“What happened?”

“Coach just didn’t want to risk me making my injury any worse.” Oikawa sighed, slumping into the metal frames of the seat beneath him. “And I mean, I understand it. But I’m going stir crazy without Ryuujin practice. And the Panthers have put me on a brief leave since I accidently _limped_ into practice the other day-”

“That’s your own fuck-up,” (Name) tutted, “you should’ve been smarter with your timing, Mr Volleyball Man.”

“I don’t need to hear that from _you_ of all people.” The man laughed. His tone was bitter, but only on the surface. “But _yes_ , I did fuck up.”

(Name) bobbed her head along to the admission. “And I don’t suppose you’re watching the Asian Games either.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t want to see Tobio-chan get praised by the world while I’m stuck _here_ because of my stupid knee-” He kicked his leg out as if to make his point, only to bash the tip of his toes into the barrier in front of him. Oikawa hissed, quickly curling back in on himself as he whined at the pain. (Name) choked back her amusement and instead looked at him with a little bit of sympathy. 

From what little Hanamaki and Mattsun told her, Oikawa had always been destined for greater things when it came to volleyball. He always had his eyes set on the international stage - whether that be in the Olympics or in a completely different league. 

And to see a man who wanted nothing more than to take on the world be grounded by his own desires was, as Mattsun so eloquently put it, fucking heartbreaking.

So she couldn’t blame him for wanting that distance, from wanting to look away from the reminders of a reality he had wanted for so long and now was just barely able to catch up with. 

But while his tone was indignant, and his demeanour supported the claim, there was a brief moment of insecurity - one that told (Name) that maybe Oikawa had dabbled in the event coverage; that maybe he was too involved, too _aware_ of the details of the competition.

"You up for having company?" 

Oikawa did nothing to hide the confusion in his face as his head whipped around to face her, a momentary lapse in his composure at the sudden offer. 

“Running to another man while your boyfriend is away? How _scandalous_ ~"

She stopped herself from wincing at how _foreign_ the word still sounded coming from other people and instead rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m just looking out for a friend I haven’t caught up with in a while.” (Name) posed with a tight lipped smile. “Besides, free dinner. How can you turn it down?”

Oikawa’s brow furrowed a little deeper. “I appreciate it… But m'not really in the mood to go out.”

“So we order in. Open some drinks, eat some food that’s really bad for us, put on a shitty movie to forget about the world that’s moving around us.”

She mused. 

"It's a distraction you need, right?" 

Their eyes met for a brief moment. 

“My place?”

She blinked.

“If you’ll have me.”

Oikawa’s lip twitched. 

“I’m in the mood for soba. I know a place.”

“Put the order through and I’ll grab a couple bottles of-” she frowned, “ _something_ that’s lying around in my fridge and be over in a few.”

"Do you have anything _other_ than Highball?" He asked, eyes flickering down to the can she held and back up to her face. 

"Sake?" His lip twitched. "Wine?" It twitched again. "I'm not doing vodka unless we mix-" 

"It'd be a weird time to tell you that Mattsun thinks you have a drinking problem, right?" 

"Mattsun can't talk, he's half the reason why I have alcohol in my apartment in the first place." 

Oikawa laughed and leant back a little further in his chair. "What type of sake?"

"I have, like, a _ginjo_ and a _daiginjo_ lying around."

"Of course, you _would_ have _daiginjo_ -" 

"It was a gift!" She bemoaned, eyes rolling the very same when Hanamaki had given her grief about the luxurious style of alcohol. "I don't want it, I'm bringing it over."

"What makes you think _I'd_ want it?" 

"When would you ever invest in something like that for yourself?" 

(Name) didn't need to hear his answer, nor did she need to look at him to know it was a 'never'. 

"Give me half an hour-" 

"Wh-" 

"I have to shove some things into a closet-" 

"You're _cleaning_ , for _me_ ~" (Name) pressed a hand against her sternum in teasing delight. "Limpy how _wholesome_ -"

"The bar is so very low, Writer-chan, please don't trip on it." 

(Name) rolled her eyes as she stood up in time with the setter, pointing a finger at him in warning. "Half an hour, and for the love of God do not order something that breaks the bank, I'm only so affluent." 

Oikawa waved a hand at her as he walked backwards towards the doorway of his balcony, a shit-eating grin on his face right before he left her to the settling evening's air. 

* * *

Almost an hour later, (Name) found herself inside the lounge of her neighbour's apartment, lounging on the floor with various boxes of takeout scattered in front of them on the coffee table alongside their small _sake_ glasses. 

In front of them was the TV playing some variety show, an idol group being interviewed while glaring animations played out in front of them. It was the only palpable content they could watch together since their first few minutes of watching a drama went rather poorly. 

("There's nothing romantic about making out in public under a _bridge_ , I don't care how pretty you make it." Oikawa grumbled, chin pressed against the table while he stared, back hunched and brow furrowed. 

"It's meant to foreshadow the fact the female lead is inevitably going to hide this moment with the second dude from male lead. And that second dude isn't as great as the audience wants to believe." She answered in kind, "But it's, like, not _great_ symbology. Too on the nose."

"How would you've written it?" 

"I wouldn't be caught dead writing this drivel.")

So in the interim of their discussion, the pair merely split the dishes Oikawa ordered between them, pouring each other shots of the _daiginjo_ sake when they spotted an empty glass while the variety show played in the background. 

"Makki-Makki mentioned your awards, congrats." Oikawa spoke, finally, as he poured her another drink.

" _Kanpai_ ~" She answered, shotgunning the drink in one gulp before dropping the drink back down in order for Oikawa to pour her another glass. 

"That bad, huh?" He snorted in faux sympathy. 

"Look, I know you said I should try and enjoy what I'm reaping but that's hard to do when I still don't feel like-" 

"Like you deserve it."

He finished for her, fingers drumming against the neck of the bottle. 

"Because you aren't working as hard as the people you beat out for the Naoji and that should suddenly dismiss your own effort. As if talent and hard work are mutually exclusive concepts. You can have one and not the other, and you can also have both. Eventually they lead to the same outcome."

(Name) blinked. "It's called the Nao _ki_." 

"I really don't care." He dismissed with a wave of his free hand. “My point still stands. You won, enjoy the success while it lasts. You earned it, whether other people agree - whether or not _you_ agree.”

There was silence between them, their gazes never meeting as their pause in conversation grew longer and longer. The frown grew a little more prominent on the writer’s features.

“Weird question.”

“Mhm?”

“You haven’t read anything I’ve written, have you?”

“I have no interest in anything you’d write.” 

“Oh?”

“I don’t think I’d be the person you would want to give you feedback.” He deadpanned, using his free hand to take a sip of his drink. “Isn’t that what Tarou-chan is for?”

“He’s not the type for feedback either.” (Name) admitted, thinking back to the several times she let the athlete read her works for the anthology. “He’s not critical enough. Too… _Positive_. But he tries to help, which is more than what most people would do if they were face to face with me.”

The setter said nothing in response, instead training his gaze back onto the TV in front of them. (Name) let her gaze linger for a moment before following suit, nursing the refilled shot glass in her hands while she folded her knees into her chest and planted her feet firmly against the floor. 

"It’s still weird, if I’m honest.." 

She admitted softly, pressing her left cheek into her knee as she watched the flashing colours on the screen. 

Oikawa leant back on a hand, titling his head back.

“If it’s any consolation, Tarou-chan is very much in love with you.” 

(Name) shivered at the words. 

It really wasn’t.

“He hasn’t been going around telling people about us, right?”

Oikawa shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m assuming his best friend, Tetsu-chan, knows. But he doesn’t mention names or specifics when he talks about you and your relationship. He just wears it like a badge of honour, dating you, _being with you_ . Nothing you do is ever wrong, and he’s always so _enamoured_ that you can do things he can’t. It’s like someone worshipping a god at a shrine. Tooth-rotting, really. If I’m honest, Tarou-chan is probably the best person to pull you out of that self-deprecation; he’s practically designed for this type of stuff. And maybe if you get used to _him_ , you can get used to the world and its reception of you.”

In one fell swoop, (Name) shotgunned the remnants of her sake down her throat and deposited the glass back on to the crowded table in front of them, all before she pressed her shoulder blades into the seat behind them. 

She hummed. “Maybe.”

Perhaps this _was_ a conversation she needed to have with her partner. 

(And maybe with her therapist, if she found it in herself to stomach another interrogation.)

Because while Bokuto Koutarou’s company was appreciated - both before _and_ after her reconciliation with Makoto - having people assume that she needed to be fixed and that this relationship would help was a little more infuriating that she would ever really admit.

(Name) didn’t _think_ that it was at all problematic for her to be comfortable with her loneliness, especially when this was a fact she had considered from a much younger age. 

And yet she was just a little off put but their circumstances, and whether that was a true sign of a lingering problem was a little beyond her. Feelings were dumb and her previous excuse of not having time to date around and explore was suddenly ripped up by having someone who was so willing to make time in their life for her. 

But maybe Oikawa had a point.

As much shit as Mattsun and Hanamaki and even Iwaizumi seemed to give him, he was an intelligent guy. 

The setter shifted beside her, briefly steering her attention back into the present. 

“Iwa-chan said he is in love with me.”

She didn’t grace him with an answer.

Not immediately, at least. 

Because she hadn’t realised that this was going to turn into a show-and-tell of personal turmoil.

And if that were the case then how was she supposed to pretend that this was all new brand new information to her? 

"He also thinks I have feelings for you."

(Name) poked her tongue into her cheek, letting the air whistle around the muscle as she inhaled. 

Maybe she let her silence linger for a little too long.

"Do you-?" 

She turned back to face him, and felt the breath get caught in her throat.

Had he _always_ been sitting close to her? 

“Does the feeling of wanting to _throttle_ you count?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Oh? ‘Throttling’?” She couldn’t stop the way her voice lilted into teasing. “That’s _certainly_ a feeling. I thought that’s more Hanamaki and Mattsun, not little ol’ _me_.”

The setter rolled his eyes. “It’s been upgraded to _smother_ -”

“I’m flattered, Limpy, really, but I’m otherwise occupied-”

“Did he say anything to you?” He asked, voice straining ever so slightly. “Anything at all?”

For a moment, (Name) thought that she should keep the man’s visit to herself. But if she were Oikawa Tooru, she would want to know. And if Iwaizumi was going around airing out his concerns anyway, then who was _she_ to keep the truth from him?

“I had a feeling the last time we spoke.”

At least not the _whole_ truth.

“How do _you_ feel about it?”

Oikawa hummed softly. “I’m a little offended he never told me, but after thinking about it I sort of get it. Feelings are bullshit, and I’m not really ready for anything…”

Oikawa’s voice trailed off, a lump quickly forming in his throat as he kept his gaze trained to the screen in front of them.

(Name) followed suit, a frown quickling adorning her features as she caught sight of the newscaster that replaced the variety show once occupying the time slot. 

The sports corner, more specifically.

Covering the gold medal win of the Japanese National volleyball team at the Jakarta Asian Games. A fast montage of in-game footage and several close-ups of Oikawa’s teammates flashed on screen while the story’s title and by-line appeared at the bottom. 

**RYUUJIN NIPPON SECURES GOLD AT 18TH ASIAN GAMES**

_WING SPIKER BOKUTO KOUTAROU NAMED MVP FOR TOURNAMENT AFTER STELLAR PERFORMANCE_

Beside her, Oikawa tensed up, and turned his head to face away from the screen just in time for an image of the newly awarded MVP himself to appear.

“Must be proud of him, huh?”

(Name) ran her tongue over her top row of teeth.

“I can be proud when he gets back.” She leant over and bumped shoulders with him. “You’ll have your day in the sun, Limpy. Keep taking it easy for now so when you get back on the court you can make everyone eat their words.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in me not fucking it up.” He retorted, corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. 

“Oh I completely expect you to fuck it up. But until you do I’ll pretend to give a shit,” she laughed, sitting up a little straighter so she could grab at the sake bottle and clink it against his glass, “and try and get you to see the shit you might be missing.”

She watched as his fingers twitched, all before tightening around the glass and cradling it in his hands so he could clink the lip of it against the bottle’s neck.

Oikawa said nothing as he tipped his head back and let the liquor spill down his throat as he swallowed, eyes squeezed shut at the taste. But as he came up for air again, he dropped the conversation, quickly sweeping the TV remote into his hands to change the channel back to the cringy drama they were previously watching. 

* * *

The following morning was both quiet and full of movement.

Something Oikawa was not used to in terms of his apartment.

And while a part of him was willing to brush off the unfamiliar atmosphere as a side effect of a sleep-addled mind, the weight resting on his extended bicep was enough to tell him that his delusions were not delusions at all.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to try and ease the strain of the sudden shift from darkness to morning light while he stretched out the arm that wasn’t trapped underneath the thing that woke him up in the first place.

As his vision cleared, he found himself unable to fight off the frown as it formed. 

Laying next to him was the writer herself, cheek firmly pressed into the muscle of his bicep while their legs were sprawled and tangled with his own underneath the coffee table, hair unkempt and draped over a section of her sleeping face.

He hadn’t realised that (Surname) never went home after their night of drinks.

Frankly, Oikawa couldn’t remember whether or not he told her to _get out_ as the night dragged on.

But she was there now, using his arm as a pillow instead of using the couch that was directly behind them.

Oikawa used his free hand to push himself over to face her, quickly bringing it over her body to help get a bit more leverage as he looked at her. She didn’t stir, soft puffs of hair exiting her mouth while she dreamt.

The setter ignored the dull thud in his chest, ignored the rising temperature of his cheeks, ignored that little voice in his mind that briefly considered her beautiful.

Instead he continued to shift, curling his arm around her neck while his hand moved down to tuck around the bend of her knees, all before he stood up and hugged her into his chest for a second. A quick readjustment of his hold, Oikawa faltered as he deposited the writer onto the couch, making sure her head was resting on the armrest.

As he pulled away, she stirred - and for a moment Oikawa thought he was _fucked_ at the compromising position of him hovering over her sleeping form-

But she settled as quickly as she began to rouse herself awake, curling back in on herself while she heaved another deep sigh.

The writer was a heavy sleeper.

And _God_ was he thankful for that fact.

He quickly hurried over to the linen closet to grab a sheet and hastily threw it over her body, all before retreating to his room to start getting ready for his morning gym session.

(Surname) remained curled in on herself, even as the setter stomped towards the bathroom and turned on the shower. 

* * *

She was gone when he re-entered the lounge. 

The sheet he used to cover her folded neatly on the couch, and the debris that still littered the table from the night before cleaned up. 

* * *

_October, 2018_

She would never understand destination weddings.

Granted, (Name) wasn’t much for formalities and festivities either, but her confusion was still justified. 

Sure, there was something charming about going off the beaten path for where you tied the knot. But ‘destination wedding’ tended to mean a complete change of scenery - that is to say, _anywhere outside of your home country_.

But regardless, it’s what Makoto wanted - and frankly, Makoto could have chosen _worse_ places to get married. 

Onomichi was a seaside town on the eastern seaboard of the main island, and one of the smallest cities within the Hiroshima Prefecture. Most of the tourist attractions were aloft on high cliffs, overlooking the lip of the large body of water that separated the main downtown area from the surrounding island districts.

The Bella Vista Sakaigahama resort hotel was one of these locations lucky enough to be blessed with a view overlooking the Seto Inland sea, a deep blue body of water that barely touched the cliff face the hotel stood upon. The resort itself was not as grand as the hotels of Metro Tokyo, but it’s ownership of the Ribbon Chapel offset that lack of familiar splendour.

(Name) looked up from her phone briefly as she waited in the foyer of the Bella Vista, looking off into the direction of the acclaimed chapel where the wedding would be held in a little under two days.

The Ribbon Chapel was a modernist fever dream; its name and silhouette defined by the two spiral stairways that met central on the roof, imposing and yet complementary to the panoramic view of the sea not far from the cliffside. Glass lined the open walls, allowing for maximum sunlight to stream in at any part of the day, and keeping the air of etherealness for one’s magical day. One stairway supported the other, slowly forming into one ribbon as it coiled to the roof.

The truest symbolism of marriage. 

Again, there were worse places for Makato and her future husband to tie the knot. 

And who was she to question the happy couple’s choice? Especially when it was already the day before the wedding.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her stupor and drawing her attention to the incoming message from the person she was waiting for.

**Bokuto Koutarou**

_Taxi’s pulling up now!!! (05:54pm)_

_Huuuuurry uuuuuuup (05:54pm)_

_I miiiiiiiss yooooooou (05:54pm)_

“Barely a week,” she sighed with a fond chuckle, all before pocketing the device and making her way out through the revolving door and out to the driveway. One of the valet’s nodded at her, all before having his attention be drawn to the incoming taxi and the excited face peering through the lightly tinted windows.

The car hadn’t even reached a complete stop before Bo was throwing the door open and running to embrace her. The lights overhead flickered on as he wound his arms around her waist, tucking his face into her neck and forcing her to sway side to side.

“Go get your stuff, Bo.” She laughed, raising one hand to press into the gap between his shoulder blades while her other squeezed at his hip.

Bo murmured something incoherent into her skin, making her sigh.

“Bo we have to pay the driver.”

“In a minute,” he grumbled, lips brushing on the supple skin, “missed you.”

“Miss you too,” she breathed into his ear, making brief eye contact with the valet and nudging her head towards the taxi’s trunk. The man nodded and hurried off, meeting the driver just as he popped the boot. “We’re just gonna have a quiet night?”

“Sleepy.” He agreed. “But I wanna spend some time with you.”

“Well the faster we get your bags and pay your driver, the faster we can unwind, no?”

The athlete heaved an almost reluctant breath before he pulled away, turning back to the driver in order to fish out the envelope filled with money to pay the fair. In the meantime, (Name) took the luggage from the valet, bowing briefly in thanks before she lugged it further into the doorway. 

Bokuto was quick to take the space at her side once more, taking his bag from her with one hand while he kept his upper body facing the workers and bowing in his own sign of thanks.

And then he was tugging her through the revolving doors, fingers wrapping tightly around her hand as they crossed over the threshold together. 

“How was the tournament?” She asked, watching as his eyes flitted from corner to corner to double check the people around them.

“Weren’t you watching me, (Name)-chan?” He whined, pout prominent on his face as a means of guilting her. She rolled her eyes.

“I _did_ ,” she soothed, leaning forward with her own sarcastic look, “but I want to hear everything from you. It’s a different experience - watching through a TV versus playing it.”

Bo hummed, squeezing her hand a little tighter as they approached the elevators. “We got bronze, which is really good for our track record! But I wanted to at least fall into second place, y’know?”

“A bronze is still good,” (Name) soothed, reaching out to push the button to call the elevator down to them. The doors slid open, and the pair was quick to enter and head up to their floor. “I’m still proud of you.”

As the doors closed behind them and (Name) pressed the number for their floor, Bokuto was quick to pull her flush against him - chest to chest, their noses bumping together as he grinned down at her.

“M’sorry for being away for most of the month.” He murmured, their lips brushing together briefly as he apologised. She shrugged her shoulders.

“S’fine. I get it. Makoto and the wedding kept me busy anyway.” The writer answered, watching as the spiker shook his head at her.

“I wanna be with you more.”

“We both have responsibilities.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want what I want.”

(Name) bobbed her head in a nod of defeat. It didn’t. He had a point.

Bokuto was starting to get better at making points the longer they were together.

(Or was it a matter of (Name) becoming easier to sway with the points he raised?)

The elevator slowed to a halt and paused for a moment all before the doors slid back open. She pulled herself away quickly and tugged her partner along, fumbling in her back pocket for the room key so they could be buzzed in.

“What time do you leave for prep tomorrow?” Bokuto asked, hastening his steps in order to walk with her side by side.

“Hair and make-up starts at 6. Wedding is at 11.”

The spiker let out a low whistle, releasing the writer’s hand so that she could open the door they paused in front of. “Long day.”

“The perks of being Maid of Honour.”

“You’ll look _stunning_ ,” he grinned, leaning over her to hold the door open once she buzzed the card, “I mean you _always_ look beautiful.”

(Name) continued to trudge further into the hotel room, quickly abandoning her shoes in the small genkan area before turning back to face him.

“Y’know you don’t have to lay it on so thick?”

“I know.” Bo agreed, shucking off his own shoes and dropped his suitcase next to her opened one. He stepped up to her with a sweet smile across his face. “But I can’t help it, you deserve all the praises.”

(Name) laughed, unable to duck away as the spiker quickly leant down, capturing her lips into a bruising kiss. 

It was filled with the longing of what had almost been two months apart. After their stint in Jakarta, Bokuto re-entered the country and spent a meagre three days with her, all before he was swept back up into training for the FIVB Tournament in September. Boktuo had been reluctant, _very vocal_ in his reluctance to leave her for so long, but (Name) insisted he listen to his coaches and trainers.

He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, one hand moving to cradle the back of her neck all before he tipped her head back in order to deepen their kiss. 

Desperation.

A feeling she had not felt from him since before their first time together, when he held her as if she were both glass and metal - all at once.

She broke away first, keeping her hands on his chest to keep him at distance while she caught her breath.

“Go shower.” She murmured, pushing against his pectoral once and listening to him groan. “I’ll steam your suit while you get ready for bed.”

“Join me?” He propositioned, golden eyes glinting in the light of the bedroom. 

“If I finish with your suit before you get out,” she paused, “don’t waste water either.”

“You’re no fun.” Bokuto pouted, bottom lip pushing out a little further to exaggerate his disappointment.

“ _Go_.” She laughed, patting his sternum. “I don’t want you to wear a wrinkled suit for the wedding!”

After a second pause, Bo stepped back, tipping his head back as he heaved out a sigh. “Fine, only because I love you."

(Name) forced herself not to flinch, and instead pressed up onto her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek while she patted the other. 

Bokuto hesitated for a moment before fully removing himself from her grip, stooping down to lay the suitcase flat and unlock it, all before he hurriedly took off into the ensuite. 

(Name) waited as the door clicked shut behind him, watching as the yellow glow of the lights flickered on and the sound of the water pelting out of the showerhead into the basin of the tub. With a sigh, she knelt down next to Bokuto’s suitcase, quickly grabbing the suit bag that had been folded and zipped away in the top half of the luggage before hanging it in the closet.

There came a moment as she steamed the familiar dark grey suit jacket that (Name) felt her shoulders sink in exhaustion.

And whether or not Bokuto noticed her change in mood when he exited the bathroom, he didn’t say.

And, if she were honest, (Name) didn’t give much of a damn to care. 

* * *

The following morning started with having to unwind (Name) from the tight clutches of her partner, the two-toned hair of the spiker buried directly in the valley between her bare breast in an attempt to keep her in bed for just a little longer.

Yes, he was aware he was being a minor inconvenience - but who could blame him? Two months was a very long time, especially when it meant being away from the person you love the most.

So Bokuto would take whatever minute he could get, would steal any moment he could in order to make up for lost time.

(Name) pushed at his body one more time, forcing the athlete to roll over onto his back and shift his hold on her, letting her slide down so she could rest her head on his chest.

“You gonna let me go?” She whispered

“In a minute…” He mumbled, tightening his new grip on her waist. 

When a minute passed and his hold didn’t let up, (Name) forced herself to wriggle out - much to Bokuto’s chagrin - and tucked the sheets back over him up to chin, briefly patting the newly covered chest. 

“The wedding starts at the Ribbon Chapel at 11, okay?”

Bokuto hummed, eyes still closed as he listened to his girlfriend’s voice.

“I can have one of Ichiro’s friends meet up with you in the lobby beforehand? ”

Bo shook his head. “M’alright.”

(Name) hummed back in response. “I’ll see you in a few hours then?”

He pried an eye open and pursed his lips, silent. 

(Name) blinked once before leaning back in, quickly pressing her lips against his in a chaste kiss, and drawing away just as fast to avoid being caught by the athlete’s hold.

The writer lifted a hand and slowly thread it through his messy bedhead, quickly, untangling a knot or three before she stood up from where she sat on the edge of the bed and began to grab everything she needed for the day.

Bo watched silently, rolling on to his side with his right arm propping his head up while his gaze followed the writer’s body around their little hotel room as she scrambled around. A part of him felt just a little guilty at withholding her from her Maid of Honour duties first thing in the morning-

But selfish is as selfish does.

So he rolled back over onto his back and shut his eyes again, listening to the door shut as the writer left him and fading back to regain a few more hours of sleep before he needed to start getting ready.

* * *

It was a first Sunday of the month, denoted to be a day of luck and posterity - perfect for a wedding. 

By the time (Name) was able to tear herself away from one Bokuto Koutarou, her long day of being Maid of Honour had already begun. Between running back and forth between Makoto’s hotel room and the Ribbon Chapel on the grounds of the Bella Vista, she maintained a balancing act of placating a nervous bride-to-be and managing the final touches of the decorations being arranged in the chapel. The ceremony and reception were only arranged to account for the 70 total guests in attendance, but that did not mean the stress was not slowly crushing the woman by the shoulders.

By ten, she and Best Man Kenta were standing at the entrance hall of the Ribbon Chapel greeting guests on behalf of the couple. The rest of the bridal party were in charge of guiding guests to seats, and performing final rounds of the space to ensure everything was in their exact positions. 

Bokuto arrived twenty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, eyes wide as he marvelled at the venue before him.

(Name) was silent as she watched him, an amused grin stretching across her face as he approached.

“It’s gorgeous, right?” She spoke, the athlete never taking his eyes off the building towering over them. 

“It’s breathtaking,” he answered in time, pausing just in front of her and letting his hand automatically sweep one of her own into his grasp. He tore his gaze away and looked down at her, eyes glinting with something before he continued with, “the building is pretty incredible too.”

The writer rolled her eyes and quickly looked around and over her shoulder. 

“I think there’s some space for you in the upper levels-”

“Oh, Takuma wasn’t kidding when he said you were here-”

(Name) turned around and scoffed at Kenta, who had just returned from guiding some of the guests to their seats. “Could’ve just _asked_ me since he said that the guy walked in with me.”

“Yeah but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, (Surname).” Kenta retorted as he strode up to them, gaze flickering down to the couple’s joined hands. “I’m Oogami Kenta, nice to meet you.”

Bokuto extended a hand out to him, grinning. “Bokuto Koutarou. (Name)-chan hasn’t been overworking herself with wedding prep, I hope?”

“We’re both equally stressed and very ready for this to be over.” Kenta laughed. “I have a friend who is a trainer for Division 2 of the V League, think it’d be too much to ask if you two sat together for the ceremony? Maybe you can convince him to apply for a team that actually deserves him.”

“You’re alright with mingling by yourself?” She asked, watching as her partner brushed off the brief hint of concern her words held.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured, a familiar grin stretching across his face, “and it’ll only be for a part of the reception right? I’ll have you all to myself later on right?”

(Name) rolled her eyes, rubbing a circle into the back of his hand before she dropped it. “Of course, I promise. No go say hi to your coworker.”

“Different division.”Career adjacent acquaintance.”

With one final laugh and wave over his shoulder as he passed, Bokuto fell into step with the Best Man, a hushed conversation happening between them as they disappeared up the winding staircase on the right hand side.

As he followed the curve of the stairwell, he looked at her one last time over Ichiro’s shoulder, briefly mouthing “Love you” before he completely disappeared from her sight.

Though he didn’t give her any time to respond, the words still stirred something in her chest. 

Just briefly.

* * *

Bokuto found (Name) not long into the after party for the reception, following the faint crying from the bride that reverberated above the sounds of the music that played after she and her partner gave the attendants their thanks. He pulled himself out of the crow, just in time to see the groom lead his wife away, and then he barely caught a glimpse of the writer standing on the outskirts of the remaining guests.

And he smiled, quickly taking a few hurried steps towards her. 

“All done for the night?” She didn’t bother turning around, and instead let herself slump against as he paused to stand next to her.

“Thankfully. Kenta is in charge of cleaning up tonight and then tomorrow I’m dealing with the final prep before the happy couple head back to Osaka to leave for their honeymoon?”

“And is _that_ why I’m heading back to Tokyo alone tomorrow morning?” He murmured in her ear, one arm draping itself around her shoulders to lock her into his side. 

“Unfortunately. We’ve got a driver taking us down there with the remaining decorations and food, but I should be back by Wednesday.”

“It’ll take that long to sort everything out?”

There was a brief bout of hesitation in her eyes.

“Hopefully not.” She soothed. “Depends on if my father gets wind of me being in Osaka again.”

The spiker nodded, a brief tension rising in him. As much as he wanted to see her heal, to get her to find better footing with one of her only surviving family members-

He wanted her to be near him more. 

The lights dimmed a little lower, and the remaining clusters of people began filtering out onto the dancefloor, assuming their positions for the next few songs.

Bo grinned and stepped in front of the writer, hand already tugging on her wrist. She raised a brow at him.

“You’re not too tired for a couple of dances, are you?”

(Name) tilted her head, eyebrow arched at the inquiry.

He watched the choices fly past her eyes before she settled on the answer that made his heart skip a beat.

“As long as it’s just with you.”

He held a hand out to her, dipping his torso a little lower in a half bow. “I’ll always be yours, and yours alone.”

With a laugh, she slipped her hand into his, letting him pull her so that she was no longer on the outskirts of the dancefloor and instead further into the bulk of swaying bodies. 

(Name) was quick to match his stance, hands settling on his shoulders while his own here positioned above the curve of her hips, squeezing at the skin hidden beneath the layers of silk that hid her bare body from him.

The faint tingle of electricity teased his fingertips.

He pulled himself a little closer.

“I don’t think I said it today, but you look beautiful.” He murmured, tilting his head downwards at an angle that stretched the muscles in his neck. 

“I’m pretty sure you did.” The writer replied, tilting back his head to meet his gaze head on. “You make a habit of it, you can’t fool me.”

Bo tugged her a little closer. “Well of course, you deserve it.”

The look of dismissal that quickly flashed on her face, and for a moment Bokuto wanted to frown and reprimand her. 

He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t believe him - if she _actually_ believed him with anything he said - and the creeping insecurity he so desperately tried to keep squashed down inside his chest.

It was frustrating, almost stifling if he weren’t so desperate for her to see the reality that she was worth it - worth all the waiting and pain and distance that their lives forced them to make. 

But it wasn’t (Name)’s fault.

Not really.

And was it not his job as her boyfriend to make her realise how loved she was? To show her that whatever thoughts and insecurity plagued her didn’t matter to him since he was so deeply in love with her, and nothing could really change that?

The writer yawned softly, lifting one of her hands briefly to hide her mouth as her eyes squinted shut. 

“Y’know we can skip the dancing and just go up to the room,” the athlete supplied softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face all before cupping the soft skin of her cheek tenderly. “You don’t have to indulge me if you don’t wanna.”

She arched a brow at him. “Do you mean that?”

He frowned at her, just ever so slightly. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

If he was slightly more sober, Bo would’ve a better mind to question the tone the writer spoke with. 

Uncertain. Inquisitive. 

A reiteration of her own insecurities about him and what _they_ were.

But instead he was focused on the way the songs changed as they spoke, crescendoing into a melody of brass trumpets, stirring a memory that was so close and so far at the same time. That night in February, and the late winter arm brushing against bare skin. Bo watched as her lips twitched upright at the edges as the tune also registered in her head, and they picked up pace every so slightly - wordless.

(Name) breathed out a laugh, shaking her head and, inevitably, Bo’s hand as well. “Logically I know you didn’t plan for this, but a part of me says that you _definitely_ planned this.”

“I kind of wish I did.” He answered honestly, an impish grin spreading onto his face while he pulled her closer to him. He lifted his right hand from her waist, brushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen from her pulled back hairstyle before resting his hand against her cheek. “But sometime’s spontaneity is better, right?”

He paused.

“I used that word correctly, yeah?”

The writer laughed, heading tilting into his head. “Yeah you did.”

Bokuto squeezed at the swell of her cheek, thumb and index finger pinched at the skin to make it red. As they moved to the beat of the song, the memories continued to stir within him, compelling him to push her back into a low dip - nothing dissimilar to the one he remembered giving her on her balcony.

And a part of him considered that maybe, just maybe, he had been in love with her since that first night. 

“We’ll turn in after this song ends.” He promised, thumb rubbing a circle on the small of her lower back as he lifted her back up, watching as more strands of hair fell and framed the sides of her face. “We haven’t danced together like this in a while.”

(Name) hummed in understanding, squeezing her hands where they rested on his broad shoulders. “Life’s been busy, for the both of us.”

“I wish it wasn’t.” He admitted softly, sighing deeply as he leant forward, pressing his nose into the crown of her head. “Wish things were a bit easier on us.” 

The writer didn’t answer, and instead took to resting her head against his collarbone as they continued to sway.

And though he wanted to talk, Bokuto _knew_ that she needed to rest. No amount of make-up could hide away physical fatigue.

So he held her up, supported her body as he took the lead in their dance - humming the tune into her hair, even after it faded into another, slower melody. 

And it wasn’t until he felt the resistance of her feet barely lifting themselves off the ground that Bokuto knew she was out for the night. Kissing her hair, he guided her out, waiting until they were tucked away into the elevator to hold her as close as he had wanted to for the entire day. 

* * *

The next morning was similar to the previous one, with Bokuto holding (Name) in bed for as long as he could, to the point where he threatened his own checkout time.

But she let him, regardless of how many alarms blared from her phone in warning of their encroaching check-out time, in warning of a few more days of distance.

Because she owed him that much attention at least.

Bo still gave her more than she asked, tucking her into him and peppering sweet kisses into her neck as she laughed at him.

Idyllic. 

Peaceful.

Even as he professed his feelings into her skin, even as he held onto her arms and hips and legs in an attempt to get her to stay just a little bit longer. 

* * *

But idealism is easily shattered, especially for those who are already wavering in its presence.

Half way through the drive to Osaka, (Name)’s phone blew up with notifications - an array of messages and tags and phone calls stirred her from the light slumber she had rocked herself into the backseat of the car. 

In normal circumstances, she would have ignored the influx of attention she’d received. But one set caught her eye.

Made her blood run a little colder.

Makoto had already checked in on her earlier that morning when she checked out and loaded the rest of the food and decorations into the car with the driver - she and Ichiro knew that she’d be at Ichiro’s family estate sometime closer to midday. And (Name) had been sure to remind her friend to relax and let herself and Kenta handle anything else that came up so that she and her new husband could relax on their honeymoon.

**Fuyutsuki Makoto**

_Congrats on going public! (8:42am)_

_So proud, its a big step to being an adult (8:42am)_

_We can finally go on double dates! (8:43am)_

(Name) frowned.

_Thank you??? (8:50am)_

She reread those messages a few more times.

_I still dont know what im thanking you for??? (8:51am)_

_You and Bokkun! (8:51am)_

Makoto and Bokuto _had_ gotten closer but-

_We’re at the airport and you guys are all over the news right now (8:51am)_

_I KNEW i shouldve stayed longer! You two were so cute!!! (8:52am)_

_Im so???? (8:52am)_

_We didnt??? (8:53am)_

The next message was a link, one that (Name) clicked without hesitation as she pulled herself a little more upright in her seat. 

As soon as the new page opened up in front of her, (Name) felt the blood drain away from her face as she read the headline at the top of the screen.

 **ATHLETE BOKUTO KOUTAROU ANNOUNCES RELATIONSHIP WITH AUTHOR (SURNAME) (NAME)** **  
** _Announcement follows after speculation about their relationship arose following the leak of photos of the pair over the past weekend._

The world slowed down for a moment, and her fingers loosened their grip around as her eyes continued to rove over and over the words to make sure she had, indeed, read that correctly.

At the tenth time over, the writer was _certain_ that her soul had left her body. 

The imminent fear of scrolling down and _reading_ the rest of the article was too paralysing, but her body betrayed her, her thumb scrolling the page down, down, _down_ -

_‘...Allegations arose late last night after several images of the pair surfaced attending a private wedding function, and further photos of the rumoured couple continued to surface - all believed to be taken over the course of six months…_

_‘...The athlete was quick to respond to speculation, posting his own photo of himself and (Surname) as he formally announced their relationship and cleared the air concerning the rumours;_

_“(Name) and I have been dating for several happy months. I am so honoured to be able to call her my girlfriend. This announcement does come from a need to deny any rumours around us, but we please ask that you respect the privacy of our relationship.”'_

At the bottom of the article, a new update read that Bo’s PR team had confirmed the bare minimum details of their relationship. 

That update in question only happened twenty minutes ago. 

“Are you alright, (Surname)-san?” The driver asked as their gazes briefly met in the rearview mirror. 

(Name) nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She hadn’t realised she looked so distressed about an article, of all things. 

“I’m fine, thank you Sato-san.” She assured, letting a tight lipped smile come across her face for a fraction of a second. 

Sure, Bo had spoken on behalf of both of them, but considering his PR team had quickly gotten involved-

“Do you mind if I make a phone call very quickly?”

The driver shook his head, eyes crinkling as he smiled politely. “That’s quite fine, just keep it a little quiet, if that’s okay?”

The author nodded and turned her body in towards the boxes, hunching in on herself ever so slightly as she made the move to call her first point of contact. 

“(Surname)!” Hanamaki’s voice greeted quickly, a slight edge lingering in the undertone of his words, “Wanna explain what-”

"Bold of you to assume I had _any_ say in how this situation has been handled by Bokuto." She interjected quickly, voice low and hurried. "I'm in a van on my way to Osaka, Bokuto should be on his way back to Tokyo right now, I have _no idea_ what is going on." 

There was a half beat of silence.

“So you want me to deny-”

"Well we _have_ to go public now," she whispered, "Bo's PR team has made a statement too, it'd be weird if we said nothing." 

"But is that what _you_ want?" 

As the question registered in her mind, (Name) knew the answer. 

_As if I ever have a choice when it comes to him._

Hanamaki grumbled in his throat, a noise of disapproval when his writer didn't reply. "I can release, like, a bare minimum statement? ‘(Surname)-sensei is dating who she wants to date and this should not be an issue to the wider public since her relationship with Bokuto-senshu does not concern them’.” 

She heaved a sigh. “Sounds exactly like the bullshit I would say in an interview."

"I'm glad it works," he retorted, "but you really need to figure out what was going on through your man's head when he decided to go public. Like sure, those pictures are damning but we still could've worked something out." 

The writer clicked her tongue, lips pursed into a frown as she thought back to the photos.

‘Damning’ was an understatement. 

She figured it was practically _impossible_ for them to have denied their relationship. Not when half the photos depicted an image of a perfect couple, not when it was so clear - so easily discernible - that they were attracted to each other. 

(Name) felt that she was doing an alright job at separating the private and public lives she had. But perhaps she was partly to blame, with the way she let the man do as he pleased when it came to _them_ . Because they had never truly _talked_ about what they were or how they were going to _look_ to the public when they were inevitably discovered. 

And maybe she should have been more assertive with the plan of _what to do_ for that inevitable moment, especially with a public event that was bound to have leaks once they got back to Tokyo. 

Back to Tokyo, right-

"Be honest with me." She murmured, thoughts still teetering on uncertain.

"I'm always honest with you, that's how I've kept my job."

"What's the roadmap for when I get back to Tokyo?" 

"Depends on if people continue to give a shit about this new relationship of yours. I suspect we'll have to handle a few calls, shut down a few tabloids if they start saying some unsavoury things about you both. Other than that, it's most likely more press around 'Observations'." The editor paused, clicking his tongue in thought. "You might get bombarded with relationship questions rather than writing questions… We'll have to include in the agreements that interviewers will only ask questions concerning the anthology just to be safe… Maybe put it in our statement; '(Surname)-sensei assures that her relationship does not detract from work, which remains her soul focus in her continuing career'."

She sighed. "Yeah, sure, I guess."

Hanamaki sighed, the distant sounds of his fingers tapping against a surface - his desk, from the sounds of the sharp click against wood. “(Surname), kid, are you _sure_ you're alright?"

The writer inhaled a shaky breath, eyes flickering to the driver before she turned away again. 

This was Hanamaki. 

Her editor. 

Her manager, to a degree.

She could rely on him for more than work. 

Her _friend_ -

Maybe...

"Can _I_ be honest?" 

"Of course." 

"I know I said I had no idea this was happening but like, _maybe_ this is my fault?” She whispered, desperate as her hand covered her mouth and phone receiver. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I thought I was doing a decent job with keeping everything copacetic and just, all that hard work is going down the drain because I didn’t _think_ to talk to Bokuto about _boundaries_ and expectations because I just didn’t - _think_ ! And I don’t like the thought that people actively care about who I am or are not seeing, and I don’t want people to care so much because they don’t have to - they _shouldn’t_ give a shit about anything that has do with that and look maybe I’m freaking out just a bit since I don’t-”

"Hey, (Name), breathe for me real quick ok? Deep breaths, no talking."

The editor exaggerated a deep inhale and exhale, the air rushing around the receiver and reverberating into her ears as he tried to coax her into following suit.

And though it took her a moment, she was able to breathe along, even if there was still the sharp jab of panic that nestled itself between her heart and lungs.

(Was this a panic attack? 

Interesting. 

She hadn’t had one of those since, what, second year of university?)

"When are you heading back home?" Hanamaki asked, voice just above a murmur once he was sure that she calmed down a little more. 

"A day? Two days? Depends on how much I have to wrap up here." 

"Ok. You tell me when your train gets to Bunkyo and I'll be there to meet you at the station to take you home.”

She frowned. “You don’t have to-”

“It’d be easier if it was _me_ waiting and not _Bokuto_ , right?” He interjected quickly. “We have a lot of business to discuss. And it’ll look more official if it’s me. You’d have to tell Bokuto-senshu though, knowing him he would _want_ to be the one to get you all things considered.”

There was a half second of silence.

“Did _you_ want me to talk to Bokuto for you? Or liaise with his PR team to talk things out?”

(Name) mulled over the offer.

It _would_ be easier that way, she knew it very well.

And if she were a previous version of herself, she would have taken that opportunity. Any offer to avoid confrontation with her partner, really.

But that wouldn’t solve her problems.

Not when the person who became the source of her strife knew her well enough to try and circumvent the distance.

So even if it killed her-

“It’s fine, I can call him tonight.”

Because it was better if she addressed it. 

Letting things fester - or letting people _assume_ her answers - would not do well for her in the long run. 

Hanamaki paused, his own hesitancy palpable in his silence. "If you're sure." 

"I’m not.” (Name) admitted. “But it's a bandaid I have to rip off eventually.”

The editor let out a huff. “How very unlike you, (Name).”

She shrugged, forcing herself to brush off the clear amusement that lay underneath his commentary. “Yeah well. Dating wasn’t really like me either, so…”

For a moment, (Name) swore she could see the shit-eating grin that Hanamaki was wearing on his side of the call. 

And the thought filled her with just a small moment of ease in the face of a confrontation she wasn't quite ready to deal with. 

“Thanks Hanamaki-”

“Makki.” He interjected, a brighter tone lacing his words. “I think we’ve earned that right, yeah?”

For the first time since she left Bokuto that morning, (Name) found herself smiling.

“Makki. Thanks. Really.”

He let her have that last word, letting the writer be consumed by the sound of a dial tone as she pulled the phone away from her ear and into her lap.

And maybe, just maybe - (Name) thought - that Makki had earned the right to be considered a friend even before that morning. 

* * *

That same evening, after (Name) had dropped off the remaining decorations and handed over the rest of her responsibilities to Kenta (who was _far_ too eager to do so), she couped herself inside her hotel room and _glared_ at her phone from where it lay opposite her on the bed. 

As if the _phone_ was the thing that had offended her, and not the conversation she was definitely going to have that evening with one, Bokuto Koutarou.

She stared at the contact pulled up, legs tucked against her chest and feet planted firmly into the mattress as she continued to glare. 

(Name) promised herself that she would do it. That she would be Adult enough to openly confront the issues that were staring her dead in the face. 

But her nerves were fading fast, and the ultimate uncertainty of where said conversation would _go_ was tempting her with the option of leaving it all behind and pretending that her qualms were not existent.

So she _knew_ she needed to call.

Lest she be forced along into a path of discomfort for the rest of their relationship.

The writer reached down and curled her fingers around the device, exhaling one short breath before she let her thumb press down on her partner’s phone number and brought it to her ear.

Her heart beat in the time with the dial tone, and with each passing ring the dread continued to settle in her stomach until-

“I was wondering if you were going to call.”

Whether her sigh was of relief or instinct, (Name) was unsure. She tightened her grip and leant her cheek into the cool glass surface. 

“Just got back to my hotel,” she lied, settling her back against the headboard while she tucked her legs underneath her bottom, “didn’t have time to call earlier in the day. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I had a feeling it was busy for you.” Bo laughed, the deep rumble from his chest reverberating into the receive. “I’m glad you had a minute to sit down and call me.”

She let her lips curl into a tightlipped smile, a pang of pain in her chest at the softness in his voice. 

“How was your day?”

She hoped that her composure wasn’t as forced as she knew it to be when she spoke. 

A rush of air passed through his lips in a sigh, washing over the receiver and forcing her to shiver. “Just had a PT session today, and then I’ve got a training session tomorrow for - well, it’s a mixed-team charity match thing that me and some other guys were signed on for - so I’ve got a training session with the team I’m playing with.”

“Sounds fun.”

The athlete hummed. “I think so. I mean, I’ve played _against_ a lot of these guys before but being on the same team will be different! Plus there are some up-and-coming rookies that have been offered a chance to play so there’s even _more_ people to verse!”

Her lips twitched as they fell into companionable silence. 

A flinch.

No matter how brief or unnoticeable it would be to the regular person.

“So.”

Bo sighed.

“I was wondering if this was going to go the way I thought it would.”

“I’m not completely transparent.” She frowned.

“No,” from the spiker’s side of the call, she heard him shake his head, “but I couldn’t help but think, y’know? Seemed like something you would’ve called me about sooner or later. I mean, I saw that your team put out their statement and I thought it was alright but… It’s you.”

The writer frowned, cocking her head to the side as she listened to the tone of disappointment that accented the words her partner spoke. Whether it was intentionally a backhanded comment, she wasn’t sure - most likely not, this was _Bokuto_ of all people - but the sting was there all the same.

And, as such, whatever she said next had to be rational and not condescending, nothing too incriminating to the fact that she was experiencing cold feet.

(Name) blinked.

Cold feet for a relationship that was _still starting_.

(Maybe _that_ should have been the sign for her that things were not going as well as she hoped.)

“I just want to have the same understanding about us as you do.” She explained, keeping her voice even as possible. “Make sure I’m not, misunderstanding anything, y’know?”

The air between them quickly grew heavy, not with a tension but with an awkwardness.

“We’re dating.” He answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know.” (Name) affirmed, her fingers curling into the metal of her phone a little tighter as if trying to convince herself more than the man on the other side of the phone call. “Trust me, I _know_ that, Kou. But I don’t think we’ve ever had that conversation about what we were and what we both expect from being with each other.”

“Is that something we were _meant_ to have.”

Considering they started seeing each other after one long night before her anthology’s release-

“I’d appreciate it now rather than later if I’m honest.”

There was a moment of respite for the writer as Bokuto shuffled around, from the sounds barely heard through his end on the receiver he was shuffling to sit down as well, depositing a bag with a heavy _thud_.

“I want to be able to _talk_ about us.” He started, a little exasperated as she heard his body flop down onto something soft. “I want to be able to say ‘Hey! Look at my girlfriend and everything she's done! I’m so proud of her!’. I just-”

There was a shake to the spiker’s voice, a crack in the armour as Bo continued to maintain his own composure.

“Is it so wrong for me to want to be able to _talk_ about us?” He asked, desperate. “I saw a chance and I took it - so if you’re angry at the fact I said something without asking you first then I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I should have asked you and-”

“It’s not just that - I mean, I’m _also_ a little annoyed about that but it’s not-”

“Then tell me what _you_ expect from _me_ with our relationship.” Bo pleaded. “Let me know what I can do to understand this - _you_ \- better.”

And then he fell silent, the only sounds from his side of the call were that of his breaths, of his nervous shifting of his weight from one half of his body to the other. 

(Name) took her own breath - short and sharp - before she spoke, before she beared the uncertainties that had begun to plague her once more.

“I don’t _like_ when people know about my personal life.” The writer explained, slowly, making sure not to stumble over her words. “I don’t like the idea that I have to _forfeit_ my privacy for people who don’t have stakes in my livelihood. "

"But isn't that stuff just, y'know, a given?" 

(Name) felt the air knocked out of lungs as she breathed out a laugh. 

She never realised she and Bo hadn't had that conversation about how she got started in her career. 

“It shouldn’t _have_ to be, though, and that’s my problem I just-” She inhaled sharply. “Shouldn’t there be a separation between the individual and their career? Isn’t it weird that we force regular people to give up their agency for our own amusement or entertainment? Shouldn’t the person’s career speak for itself, regardless of their personal matters?”

“And what would’ve happened when you did eventually start seeing someone? You had to have known that people would’ve been interested - you’re young, you’re one of Japan’s fastest rising authors, you’re beautiful.”

“I never considered it.” She admitted plainly. “I’ve never thought I would date. It wasn’t something I was interested in or cared about. Ever. I just wanted to write, to have my words to speak for themselves. It’s what I’ve always strived for and I was doing a good job until-”

 _Today_.

“And I’m frustrated because I’ve been trying to see it from your side but I just _can’t_ get past the fact that I didn’t get a choice in what we said - in what we got to tell people. And that isn’t _fair_ , Bo, I just-”

(Name) wasn’t fond of the way her voice finally cracked - snapped, really - with the emotion she was trying to hold back throughout their conversation. 

An involuntary reaction. 

“I didn’t get the chance to choose things for myself when I was growing up. And even now that I’m essentially my own brand there are times where I feel like I’m trapped in the framework that my publishers expect of me. My life - the _real_ sides of me - were the only parts of me I think I had complete control over and today has just proven that I’m still not getting a _chance_ , even when I’m with _you_.”

By the time she finished, she was heaving deep breaths into her chest in an attempt to calm down, a desperate attempt to try and come back into the composure she had started the night with.

“I… Didn’t know you felt like that.” Bokuto murmured.

She shook her head. “I know you didn’t. It’s my fault that I never talked about anything.”

“Doesn’t mean I couldn't have asked for more.”

The writer stayed silent, unsure how to continue on. 

“I love you.” Bo breathed, his voice wavering ever so slightly as he spoke in the silence of her own creation. “At the end of the day I love you. And even if it seems like I don’t care about you I _do_. I have always wanted the best for you, I always will, and I just thought that it would be easier for the both of us to air everything out now rather than later. I wouldn’t do anything to make you feel less than loved.”

“I know…” (Name) affirmed. “Doesn’t discount the fact it happened.”

“I know I just... Do you love me?" 

Her mouth quickly dried, tongue tripling in weight as it sat uncomfortably in the cavern of her mouth-

“Doesn't even have to be love, do you _care_ about me? About us and what we have?”

"Of course I care," she assured, attempting to get the moisture to return to her tongue. “I’m just _tired_ Bo.”

For a moment, (Name) thought she heard Bokuto’s teeth clench and creak as he bit down, wind whistling through the small gaps of his teeth as he interjected his reply. 

“When do you get back to Tokyo? I’ll come get you.”

She swallowed, saliva getting caught around the lump in her throat. 

“Hanamaki is coming to get me. We have some promotion work to do for ‘Observations’.”

“T-Then when are you free next? We could, I dunno, go out for lunch, just talk things out face-to-face a-and, y’know, _see_ each other for this.”

_Rip the bandaid off._

_Now or never._

_He’ll understand._

“I think I just need time, Bo. For me. I need to just work through some stuff about me, maybe about what I really _want_ from this - for _us_.”

“Time...” The spiker coughed. “Sure.”

“It-”

“No, no, I get it.” It was Bokuto’s turn to strain around his discomfort, and the sound of his struggle made her chest tighten with guilt. “I’ll… Please just call me when you’re ready.”

(Name) pulled her lips into a tight line, growing more and more unsettled by the emerging pain that was slowly appearing with each word he said. “Of course… I promise.”

On the other line she heard him inhale sharply, all before exhaling more than he had breathed in before he hummed out an “Okay” all before-

“I love you (Name).” 

He whispered. 

Hopeful.

She didn’t have the heart to respond.

Not when the sinking, suffocating feeling was steadily getting a little heavier with every passing second. 

So she let him hang up on her, and sat holding her phone against her ear and cheek while the silence washed over her.

* * *

When (Surname) arrived back in Tokyo, it was raining.

A rolling storm, one that crept up during the day and only hit when the shadow of night finally cast itself over the city. A biting cold followed with it, a sign that winter was coming - faster than normal, more aggressive that unusual. 

And while he would normally be inside avoiding the torrential storm swirling above him, Oikawa stood at the exit on the side of the Bunkyo train station closer to their apartment, jacket zipped up to his chin and a hat low over his head as he tucked himself underneath the cover of the station entrance. 

‘A favour,’ he assured himself as he checked the time on his phone, ‘I’m only doing this as a favour for Makki and nothing more.

He frowned at the time displayed on the homescreen, clicking his tongue once as he realised it had reached the time the editor sent to him earlier that day.

So it was only fair that he take the next step in the plan he’d been roped into following through with.

Oikawa tugged down the collar of his jacket as he clicked on the newly added contact number, resting his check against the cool screen of the phone as the dial-tone continued for three more rings and-

“Hello?”

Oikawa fought down the way his lips twitched as her voice filtered through the receiver and into his ear. 

(He didn’t miss her. Definitely not. Why would he? Shut up.)

“It’s Oikawa."

A few seconds of silence as he waited for the writer’s answer. There were sounds of echoing footsteps and squeaking wheels.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Limpy?”

“Makki-Makki gave me your number, said to tell you that the Chairman of Kodansha is back in the country; he was apparently invited to dinner with him and that Hisakawa guy to talk about ‘recent events’.” He mused, making air quotes with his free hand. 

“Fuck, Chariman Noma _and_ Hisakawa…” She grumbled to herself, the faint sounds of rubber soles squeaking against a tiled floor. “So what does that have to do with me, specifically? Do I need to meet them somewhere? Hanamaki could’ve called me himself.”

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked, a slight bemusement evident in his voice. "Their meeting is running late, _I’m_ the one who’ll be picking you up.”

There was the faint sound of rainfall from the setter's end of the call.

She was close.

"Are you waiting there already?" She asked, a mix of disbelief and exasperation as she spoke.

He peaked around the pillar he was propped up against and grinned impishly to himself, gaze settling on the huddle figure of the writer as she tugged her suitcase up the staircase that connected the underground together.

“Turn a little to your right.” He answered, sweeping his left hand down to grab at the umbrella before he fully revealed himself from his hiding place.

Sure enough, their gazes met and the writer was quick to don a frown as she hung up the call and took hurried steps towards him, sliding the phone into her coat pocket and looking over both her shoulders as she approached.

Unnecessarily, really. 

The station was empty.

Oikawa took a few steps forward to meet her, pocketing his phone and swinging his umbrella into the crook of his arm as he greeted her with a nod.

“How was the trip?” He asked. “How’s _life_?”

She didn’t respond.

Not verbally at least.

Her eyes spoke enough for her, deep circles that rivalled even the last time he saw her. And really, with all the excitement that was happening about herself and Tarou-chan, Oikawa didn’t really _need_ the update. He was smart enough to solve a few of those mysteries himself - especially with the delay between the athlete’s response and the writer’s press team’s own confirmation. 

The fatigue. The concern. The debilitating exhaustion.

It didn’t look good one her. 

“C’mon then,” he took the space next to her, quickly batting her hand away from the handle of the rolling suitcase so he could get a hold of it. He maneuvered the umbrella into his hand and popped it open, quickly holding up between them as he jerked his head in the direction of the exit. 

She didn’t move.

Not immediately.

“I could’ve gone home by myself if Hanamaki couldn’t get me.” She grumbled, reaching down to try and regain her hold of the handle, only to have him bat her hand away again so that he could slide the handle down and revert it into its carry-on setting. 

“Makki promised a friend would come get you,” Oikawa’s lip twitched, “and I’m the closest thing you’ve got right now since Iwa-chan is working and Mattsun is pulling late shifts at the office.”

He stared down at her, a silent “Take it or leave it” as their gazes met. A challenge to dismiss his admission that maybe he considered her a friend. 

When she didn’t answer, he started walking ahead of her, carrying her luggage with him without bothering to look back to see if she was following him. 

By the time he took his first step out into the downpour, (Surname) was by his side, huddling underneath the umbrella with the hood of her coat over her head and the front button all the way up. 

“Have you eaten?” Oikawa asked, voice just barely cresting over the sound of the rain pelting against the plastic of the umbrella. 

“Y’know, in my current state I hadn’t thought to feed myself.”

He frowned. “And the last time you ate?” 

“Like, yesterday... for breakfast.”

The setter nodded definitively. “I was in the middle of making dinner when Makki called in the favour. You can dry off and have a warm meal if you don’t feel like dealing with the mess the Hopeless Couple left you.”

The writer clicked her tongue. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

“I mean, they were _both_ there for the past six days-”

“I will gladly take you up on that offer.” She interjected, shoulders shuddering from a mixture of the cold and the mental image of the mess she would need to clean. “What's on the menu?”

“Curry. It was cold, I had the roux blocks, and I really don’t care for my diet right now.” He glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Not one word to my Coaches or Iwa-chan.”

She laughed. “Ok, the coach I can understand, but Iwaizumi-san?”

“He would murder me if he found out I had a cheat day.” He admitted. “Side effect of, y’know.”

 _Feelings_.

But he didn’t need to vocalise that. (Surname) was quick to nod along to the sentiment with a curt bob of her head. “Naggy, I get it entirely.”

Oikawa breathed out a laugh, stepping a little bit closer to the writer and adjusting his hold on the umbrella. 

Dangerous.

He knew that.

But he still let them linger close together, let their arms brush as they took equally slow steps through the rain back to their apartment building. 

* * *

(Surname) took long showers.

And while a part of him should have been a little upset at the fact his water bill would be a little higher that month, Oikawa was more focused on the fact that the writer was taking time for herself - something he _assumed_ she did not have the luxury of both in her current circumstance and in her forthcoming future.

So instead he let her linger while he finished with dinner prep and cooking, slightly glad that he had cleaned up before Makki called in his favour. 

By the time she’d finished, Oikawa prepped two plates and set the opposite sides of the table. The TV on and the volume low, just enough to stifle back the silence that threatened to emerge between them. (Surname) shuffled out of the bathroom, running a towel through her hair as she shut the door behind her and sniffed at the air.

“It smells edible. Colour me impressed.”

Oikawa kept his back to her as he rinsed the pot in the sink, gesturing to her side of the set up with a wave of his hand and a sarcastic laugh. 

“Contrary to whatever the Hopeless Couple have told you, I’m actually a perfectly functioning adult.” He explained, as he stepped away from the sink and dried his hands on his sweatpants. “But this is a little out of the norm. I normally just eat one of my meal preps on a training day.”

“Consider me honoured then.” The writer murmured as she slid into the seat opposite him, throwing her towel over the back of her chair.

He rolled his eyes at her before moving to the fridge. “Need a drink?”

“What’re you offering?”

“I’ve got beer, if that works?”

“I’ll take one.”

Oikawa pulled the door open and grabbed two cans, slamming it shut again with his foot as he made his way past where the writer sat at the dining table. He placed the can on a coaster and tapped the side before continuing on, taking his seat on the opposite side of the table. 

The only thing heard above the sounds of the TV was that of their spoons scraping along porcelain, and the soft smacks of lips as they ate.

Oikawa snuck a glance at the woman opposite him, watching as she poked her curry around with a distant look in her eyes.

If anything, the shower and alone time had made the writer fall a little deeper into her own thoughts.

Oikawa frowned.

“Did you guys break-up or something?”

She kept her gaze on her food.

“He’s been acting like a kicked puppy.”

(Surname) grimaced. "Hasn't there been, like, _one_ Ryuujin practice since I've been gone?" 

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard to notice that Tarou-chan has been down in the dumps.” Oikawa supplied, leaning back in his chair ever so slightly. “The team was talking about you guys and he was acting like everything was fine between you two - but if you really _know_ him then you could easily tell something was up.”

She bobbed her head in a single nod, lips pursed as she jabbed her spoon into a small mound of rice before she heaved out a deep exhale. 

"I couldn't tell him that I love him."

Oikawa blinked.

 _That_ was definitely not the answer he was expecting.

(Nor was the way his heart sped up an expectation. But he ignored that, pointedly.)

“Was that before or after the rumour got confirmed?”

“After.” She leant back, folding her arms across her chest as she let her head flop unceremoniously onto the top of the chair back. “I called him to talk about everything and I just. _Couldn’t_.”

Oikawa bent forward, raising a hand to prop his cheek and head up, head tilted ever so slightly as he watched her with curious eyes. “And the conversation itself? Was it bad?”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and stayed closed as she spoke.

“Could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t _great_. Just reiterated everything I figured was right and cleared the air around things I wasn’t sure of.”

“So no break up?”

“Just on a break.”

The setter scoffed. “That’s kind of the same thing.”

“Yeah, I figured…”

The writer lifted her hands and pressed the heel of them into her eyes with a deep sigh. 

“I feel so _shitty_ about it.” She admitted, voice strained as if in pain. “I never imagined that I would have someone so invested in my life and it’s... Having someone that makes you feel a way that you were convinced you would _never_ feel, or had any _right_ to feel. No one’s ever shown interest and I barely have any positive feelings towards myself, so being surrounded by all this _emotion_ is... _terrifying_ . And like, who I am, who Bo thinks I am, who he’s seeing now, who he is invested in - those are like, four different people. And how am I meant to reconcile those four different people when _I_ don’t even know which one is the real one? Do I pretend? Do I leave it be? Is there any point in pretending?”

She let her hands drop from her face, and they smacked limply against her sides and her body sank further into the seat supporting her weight. 

Oikawa nodded along, sucking his cheeks in between the bite of his teeth. 

“Have you told him that?”

“Yes.”

“ _All_ of it?”

She didn’t reply.

“Do you love him?”

He watched her wince.

“I don’t think you can fall in love with someone as easily as people make it out to be.”

An admission.

_Guilty._

Oikawa tapped his index finger against the wooden surface, watching as she stirred slightly at the distraction. “Then do you at least like being _with_ him?”

(Surname)’s shoulders tensed. “It’s _easier_ to be with him.”

“Like, ‘comfortable’ easy or ‘natural’ easy?”

She scoffed. “What’s the difference?”

“The former is a little more conscious than the latter.” It was his turn to shrug at her. “A little more taxing. A little more effort.”

At this she cracked open an eye, letting herself flop forward onto a folded arm next to her plate of curry. “Effort...” She murmured, “sounds about right.”

Oikawa scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, silently clicking his tongue as he tried to form an answer. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really subscribe to that stuff either. Love at first sight doesn’t exist in real life for people like us,” he gestured between himself and the writer, “maybe it does in fiction but not the real world. But I do believe feelings happen eventually if you let them grow, so if you _do_ feel good around him then I don’t think you’re too far off from loving him back.”

The writer’s head bobbed once, almost imperceptibly. 

“And I think you’re taking that ‘I don’t deserve anything from anyone’ schtick a little too far. Even if you never thought you’d get it, you deserve love - just like anyone else in this world.” He clicked his tongue a little. “And there are clearly people out there who want to give you said love; Tarou-chan is still fawning over you even with you giving him the cold shoulder. He’d probably listen to you, maybe even try and take a few days to unpack all your bullshit baggage.”

There was a brief lull, a heavy silence settling between them before the writer finally looked up, gaze locking with his own.

“You understand my baggage pretty well”

Oikawa’s heart dropped into his stomach, and the air got caught in the crevices of his throat as he attempted to maintain composure.

There was nothing too damning in her words, nor was there anything hidden in her gaze.

Just facts.

Facts that made him _squirm_.

Because she had a point, even if-

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing, (Surname).” Oikawa said, deadpan, desperate to keep his tone even and disinterested. 

It wasn’t.

It really wasn’t a good thing that _he_ was the one who understood all this about the writer. 

Because he wasn’t the one that was with her.

He wasn’t the one that needed to understand those things about her.

Bokuto Koutarou was.

His teammate _needed_ to be the one that was making these revelations if he wasn’t already. 

"It isn’t.” She finally agreed after what felt like an eternity, tipping her head back ever so slightly. “But it would've been easier if it was you."

He felt his breath hitch as he blinked slowly at her.

"Would you have wanted it to be me?" He questioned, half serious, half incredulous.

The writer stared at him, deadpan.

"Would _you_?" 

Oikawa froze.

_Would he?_

Logic told him no, he wouldn’t. 

Because the thought of being with someone like her - so similar and foriegn and vexing all at the same time - would have done his head in. 

But sitting there with her, in that moment of intimacy and domesticity, was enough to pique his curiosity - to really wonder if it would be so _bad_ to be with (Surname) (Name).

Effort. It always came down to effort. And it was easy for the setter to dismiss the idea of being with the writer considering he had other things to focus on. 

For a brief moment, Oikawa swore he heard the familiar pained voice of his best-friend. 

‘You love her, don’t you?’

He internally scoffed to himself.

He didn’t.

He really didn’t.

But if he did, did it matter?

Did it really mean anything if the woman he had hypothetical feelings for didn’t love him back? 

Of course it didn’t. 

Nothing mattered, really.

Not when it was clear that (Surname) (Name) was - in some capacity - in love with Bokuto Koutarou.

“You sure you didn’t drink on the train home? There’s no way you’re sober.”

For the first time that night, (Surname) donned a genuine smile, laughing as she turned her head away from the man opposite her. He softly sighed, thankful that he read her comment as a joke more than an actual question. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what Mattsun said because my drinking habits are _not_ that bad.” She quipped, scooping her spoon back into her hand and shovelling a mix of rice and curry into her mouth as she turned back to face forward.

The tension in his shoulders eased a little more. “That’s something you should be asking Mattsun about. That asshole will tell you if you ask him, though it might turn into an intervention.” He hummed. “Actually, can you let me know if you ask him? That’d be a fun thing to watch.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, mumbling something to herself around another bite of cooling meat and vegetable. 

“And how’s everything with you? Anything new?”

Oikawa stopped his lips from twitching in disdain. “No new developments.”

She sighed, “Really? Nothing?”

“So _eager_ , Writer-chan, is your next book a romance novel?”

“I just feel bad that every time we do this, _I’m_ the one unloading onto you. Doesn’t seem fair, y’know?”

The setter pushed down a laugh as he dismissed the sentiment with a wave of his hand. 

If it was anyone else coming to him - any of his friends that came over to vent about their relationships - then it would be.

But this was (Surname) (Name).

He huffed.

So yes. Unfair.

But-

“That’s what friends do, I guess.”

Oikawa smiled at her, teeth bared in a small grin as he watched her usual demeanour slowly return.

It’s what Iwa-chan did for him all throughout high school. It was what Mattsun had to go through when Makki was seeing that other guy for a few months during their second year of high school. 

A cover. 

He realised.

_Oh god-_

“Friends, huh?” She mused.

“Closest thing you’ve got right now.” He amended, finally cracking open the tab on his drink. 

A distraction.

He knocked a large sip back, paying attention to the way it burned his throat.

As he lowered the can back down, (Surname) was continuing to eat, her gaze trained on the TV. Whatever charged tension had dissipated - like static without a point to latch on to.

So Oikawa let himself breathe. 

And pretend as if he had not had his own revelations.

Things he shouldn’t have done.

Things he needed to do.

And, most importantly, what he was going to do from this point on. 

* * *

True to his word, Makki kept her busy not long after she settled back into Tokyo, with PR and interviews for ‘Observations’ and meetings with Hisakawa as they continued to negotiate the next work lined up in her contract. A mix of long days and late nights, staying cooped up in her study and the phone calls to her therapist. It was enough to grant her a short respite to the continued internal monologue concerning The Break and what it All Meant.

Just a brief one.

Really, (Name) knew that there would be nothing that could completely distract her from her troubles. 

Not when her internal monologue echoed the same thoughts over and over again.

So maybe, she considered, at least having some dialogue with her concerns would be enough to help her figure out her next steps.

No external pressures. No one to try and sway her one way or another. No one to tell her how she was feeling or that they understood only to be wrong, or horribly right, or downright confusing in the messages they gave her. 

Just her own thoughts in the moment; nothing more and nothing less.

So when the morning of her first day off in almost two weeks was disturbed by the distant tapping of knuckles against wood, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or angered by the interruption. 

Regardless, (Name) hauled herself out of bed and she plodded out of her bedroom and down the hallway to the front door. The tapping grew a little louder, a little more impatient. 

Hands pressed against the cold wood, she peered through the peephole with a bleary eye, straining to see who decided to disturb her so early in the morning. 

As her vision cleared and focused on the mop of brown hair tossed haphazardly across her guests forehead, (Name) groaned low in her throat in realisation. The writer clicked her tongue as she stepped away to open and unlock the door.

It swung open, unceremoniously, revealing her neighbour in all his annoying glory.

“You know it’s ass o’clock in the morning, right?” She grumbled, scratching the back of her head as she propped the door open with her hip.

“It’s 8am, calm down.” Oikawa scoffed.

“You know I don’t get up before midday.”

“Hasn’t Makki-Makki been working you to the bone?”

“It’s my day-off today, let me live.” She bemoaned, head tipping back to avoid the amusement in his eyes.

“I won’t keep you long then just…” The setter sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead... And to give you this.” 

He fished his fist from his jacket pocket and revealed a slip of paper, brandishing it out to her with a half-hearted flourish.

She narrowed her tired eyes. 

“What’s this?”

“A ticket, Genius.”

“I know that, Asshole, what’s the ticket _for_?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, leaning his body on to the left hand side of the doorframe, his right arm still extended out between them.

“It’s that charity match with the rest of the V League. Did Tarou-chan not tell you about it?”

(Name) blinked, the echoes of her previous conversation with her partner lingered in the back of her mind.

“He did.” She affirmed, gaze still trained on the slip of paper being held out to her. “I didn’t realise _you_ would be playing as well.”

His lips twitched upwards into a grin, the ticket fluttering from side to side as he waved it around in front of their faces

“This marks my triumphant return to the court.” He tapped his knee with his free hand, pride almost visibly surging through his veins. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention this when we caught up.” 

“I could have. But there’s more fun in surprising the fans and the league by returning for an exhibition match and absolutely annihilating my opponents without any previous fanfare of my participation.”

She folded her arms across her chest, a shiver running up her spine as she watched a glint of amusement - a glint of _danger_ \- flash across his light brown irises. “You’ve got problems.”

“I’ve been deprived of playing the sport I love for a whole year, let me _live_ Writer-chan.”

“You don’t get to say that when you woke me up before midday _on my day off_.”

The setter readjusted the strap of his bag where it hung across his shoulder. 

“You can yell at me later - for now I need you to take the ticket and and least _consider_ coming to watch.”

She trained her gaze on the ticket, attempting to ignore the 

“What’s your play here?”

Oikawa tilted his head. “Huh?”

“I trust you as far as I can throw you, which is not very far all things considered. So what’s your play? Do I have to pay you back? Do you need me to cause a scene? A scandal? Am I going to die from mysterious circumstances at this game? What’s the deal?”

The brunet scoffed, standing up a little straighter as he spoke. “I can’t believe you’d assume something so _low_ of me, Writer-chan! Maybe I want you watching me and my return since we’re _such_ good friends now! Always need a cheerleader and I’d settle for you I guess~”

She raised a brow at him-

And immediately watched him falter into the truth.

“I’m not on Tarou-chan’s team.” Oikawa prefaced, training an expression of severity across his features. “And if I’m honest, he hasn’t been playing at his best when we’ve had practice together. Call it a hunch, but I think it’s because he still hasn’t talked to _you_. Which is expected. Tetsu-chan has always said that Tarou-chan has had an issue playing when his emotions aren’t kept in proper check. And a break-up-not-a-break-up would understandably throw him off his game for as long as said arrangement went on.

“And while you’re allowed to be concerned with how expressive Tarou-chan is with his feelings for you, it takes two to tango. So stop running. It’s not fair to him that despite caring as much about him as he does you, you do nothing to really _show_ that. Reciprocity is a staple in any healthy relationship, and when your partner kinda thrives of that stuff it’s important to acknowledge. Regardless of if it all lasts or not. So I’m giving you this - free of charge, by the way - to go and see him and show you care and then talk about everything and stop with the whole ‘One A Break’ bullshit. But also so that he can see you and get all gung-ho about playing and then give me a proper challenge for my return to the league.”

(Name) nodded along as he spoke, partially impressed that she had been right with her assumption.

Of course he had an ulterior motive, but to be able to see the good intentions lying beneath his selfishness was so unexpected of what she thought she knew about Oikawa Tooru. 

A perk to his friendship, she supposed, considering that the man in question was trying to not only help her - a newer not-really-friend - and Bo - a person he had studied and played with for the past four years.

Perhaps, she thought, Oikawa Tooru really wasn’t that bad of a person.

(It only took her a few months, but still, it was a comforting idea to think about.)

“It’s pretty bold of you to assume me being there would kick him back into gear.” She murmured, shaking her head at the still lingering confidence emanating from his body. 

“I know it is.” He said, squaring his shoulders as he met her gaze. “But if I know the guy as well as I think I do then I know I’m right. It’s perfect - for you _and_ for me.”

He’s lips curled downwards into a frown, dissatisfied with her reaction to his certainty.

“Just…” Oikawa sighed, running a hand through his hair while he shoved the ticket straight into her chest, retreating before she could hand it back to him.. “Let this be the one time you trust me and at least _think_ about it. I’m not gonna miss you if you decide not to show-”

(Name) scoffed. “Wow, thanks-”

“I’m just trying to give you options.” He continued with a pointed stare. “To make it easy for you while you try to figure your damage out. Because even if you don’t show it, I can probably guess that you aren’t doing so great with all this distracting you.”

The writer fumbled for a moment, cradling the paper against her chest before her fingers finally found purchase, and grasped around the ticket. 

“Gates open at 4.” Oikawa continued, shoving his now free hand back into his jacket pocket. “And if you come and then chicken out on seeing Tarou-chan afterwards then just tell me, I’ll run interference so you can sneak out.”

The corner of her lip twitched upwards.

“Since when have you been nice?” She asked, jokingly.

The setter shrugged, continuing to step away from the doorway and in the direction of the elevator, compelling the writer to follow. 

“Since I became the closest thing to a friend that you’ve got.”

With one more wave, he pointed a finger at her.

“I’ve gotta head off for warm up and press but, just think about it, alright?”

(Name) rolled her eyes, giving him her own wave goodbye for she retreated back inside, letting the door click shut before she pressed her back up against the wood. With a sigh, she sunk down, down, down to the floor, bringing the ticket in front of her face.

“See you there, huh...” She mumbled to herself, tipping her head back to rest the crown of her head against the wood.

She held the ticket between her index and middle finger, looking with a look of offense at the fact she hadn’t been able to shove the item back at the setter before he ran off. 

(Name) poked her tongue in her cheek, reading over the details printed out on the paper and scanning the logos and barcodes to make sure it was an actual ticket. 

And once she confirmed that it was, indeed, a valid ticket to an event that actually existed - all she could think about was what to do next.

Would she go?

Should she go?

There was no obligation to attend - Oikawa himself made it clear he wouldn’t be bothered if she did or did not show up - but his argument was solid, and hit the nail on the head concerning the truth she did not necessarily want to acknowledge amidst her crisis. 

Relationships were a two-way street: Bokuto had been giving her more than enough, and she gave bare minimum in return. An unequal exchange.

Objectively speaking, that was fucked.

And she knew that. 

And it wasn’t like she didn’t want to go see Bokuto.

When he mentioned the match, she couldn’t deny that there was a brief blip of interest that appeared in her mind. Watching from afar - and getting rather unhelpful play-by-play descriptions from Mattsun - didn’t do much to demonstrate that she genuinely cared about what he did.

(In all honesty, (Name) didn’t hold much concern for what _anyone_ did, but she supposed it had to be different when it came to relationships. Investments, and all that.)

So again, going would be the first step in closing a gap that she subconsciously kept between them, maybe to even make amends with-

She blinked.

Amends.

_For what?_

Asking for distance? For time? For inadvertently making him feel like he was the main source of their problems? 

She huffed. 

Yeah, those things would definitely be the first things Bokuto would want addressed by her, especially if she was to take Oikawa’s word on how he had been holding up when he did see him. 

She frowned at herself, fingers tightening and wrinkling the paper between them.

There was a lot she needed to address with Bo.

Orr at least explain to him in a way that would make him understand her properly.

Because at the end of the day, (Name) was running.

Not from Bokuto Koutarou.

(Okay, maybe a _little_ from Bokuto Koutarou.)

But from the life she didn’t necessarily envision, and the results from the hard work she did not want to acknowledge. 

She was a creature of habit.

A creature of self-preservation.

And while she desperately tried to ignore the inevitability of her life, the universe did nothing but propel her forward in the opposite direction. 

It forced her to run, to _hurry_ \- no matter how reluctant she was - into a future she wasn’t completely sold on. A future where her value was underpinned by successes she did not think she deserved, nor considered as rewarding as most others would. And the ground beneath her was moving just as fast, if not _faster_ , forcing her to hurry at higher speeds, lest she trip and stumble and _crash_ into the unknown failure that lined the precarious path she had to navigate. 

And (Name) was alone. 

Connecting to people was always a strenuous task for her - even _if_ she could command words with the ease she had at her fingertips - and when no one could keep up with the pace she was forced to keep, that distant between herself and everyone else was made all the more obvious.

And then came Bokuto Koutarou.

Bokuto, who barged into her life unceremoniously, offering piece after piece of himself in exchange for the smallest parts of her own life.

Bokuto, who made it known to her that he was around - and who _stayed_ around whether she believed that she deserved the company or not.

Koutarou, who fell into step with her, took her hand, and pulled her along at his full sprint. 

Ko, who forced her to look at him - and only him - as if to say “Focus, it’s fine, I’m here and we’re in this together” as he ran head first into a future he himself was uncertain of. 

And maybe that was good for her.

Maybe the forceful tug on her hand was the step that she needed to take in order to try and find peace. 

He was different from anything (Name) thought she needed, different from all the things she _used_ to want, different from who she was in so many miniscule ways.

But life was a very big picture, after all.

Who was to say that she only needed him to fill in the missing piece of the puzzle she was currently viewing? How could she be certain that he didn’t suit one of the other corners of the life still unfolding before her, didn’t blend with the same bright hues he exuded whenever he was around her?

It was presumptuous. Meaningless, really. 

The stranglehold she so desperately tried to keep was useless in the face of how weak her grip really was. 

(Name) pushed herself off the floor to stand, stretching out her back as she winced.

It wouldn’t hurt to show up. 

To watch at least one set. 

She owed Bo that much, in the very least. 

And whatever happened, happened.

She owed _herself_ that much. 

* * *

A thunderous roar filled the stadium, drawing his attention to the scoreboard hovering above them from the where they stood at the sidelines. 

**0 - 1**

Bokuto clicked his tongue and focused on wiping away the sweat that was forming along his hairline before it could drip down into his jersey. 

He promised himself that he would be fine by the start of the exhibition, but as he stared at the jarring difference in points form that first set (16-25) he couldn't help but feel what little remained of his confidence beginning to fade away. 

Admittedly, it had been a rough few weeks for him - a combination of sadness from being without his girlfriend and being in a state of limbo concerning what they were, and the surmounting stress of his underwhelming performance during training for today’s exhibition match.

Bo thought he was better than this, thought he had done enough growing in his time at university to learn how to properly become The Ace his team deserved - one not bound by his mood swings and episodes.

But there was always going to be a dip in his mood. Such is the fact that _everyone_ experiences their ups and downs - maybe not as intensely as he personally experienced - but similar all the same.

He just didn’t like the fact that it had to happen _now_ of all times. 

It wasn’t entirely untrue to say that he became attached to (Name)’s presence. 

If anything that was a plain fact of life for most of his year. The spiker consciously decided to shape his life around the writer’s, carving out time for her so that he would be able to bask in her presence, to insert himself in her life as her constant - whether she genuinely appreciated that or not.

(He hoped she did. She smiled a lot when he was around. She wouldn’t have done that if she _wasn’t_ amused by his presence.)

But the absence - the infamous ‘break’ - that they were going through upended his routine, his stability. 

And he hated that. Detested that. 

And as much as he didn’t want to feel hopeless about the circumstances, he couldn’t help it.

The longer they were apart, the more out of reach (Name) was steadily becoming.

Bokuto couldn’t handle that.

Wasn’t ready for that.

Would never be ready for that-

“Oi.” He felt someone slap his shoulder, making him awaken from his stupor.

Bokuto turned his head to face Atsumu, whose lips curled into a smile as he stared off to a point behind him.

“Isn’t that yer _girlfriend_ in Section M?”

The spiker refrained from scoffing, not in the mood to deal with Atsumu’s brand of antagonising. 

But the brief glimpse of his setter’s expression that appeared in his peripherals was enough to make him want to pay attention.

That wasn’t Atsumu’s bullshit face.

There was a part of him that dismissed it. He _knew_ Tsumu wasn't the type of guy to pull a joke like that when he was already in the dumps, but the chances that it really _was_ (Name) in the stands were slim. 

But there was a part of him - the side of him that yearned for the writer to come home to him, whose fingers twitched at the meagre thought of being around her again - that couldn't help but _hope_ that she was there. 

Wishful thinking, yes. 

But who better than himself to manifest destiny and have her appear before him.

So he turned, letting his team's setter steer in him the direction of Section M, barely catching the man smile in - anticipation? amusement? - 

The world faded away. 

Just for a moment. 

Because she was there. 

Sitting in the row closest to the barrier of Section M, gaze scanning across the length of the court as she took in the sights of her first volleyball match, a Tokyo FC scarf draped around her shoulders. 

He blinked. 

Bokuto didn't realise he had left that scarf at her apartment. 

Nor did he realise that she kept it. 

“Though ya said she wasn’t comin’?”

Bo shook his head, both as a response and as a chance to stir himself from his stupor. "That’s what she told me.”

Not a complete lie, but not an entire truth either. He had gotten so used to relaying his games to her, or hearing that she caught highlights from the news or Twitter or that Matsukawa guy-

The blond’s grip tightened on the curve of his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle as he let out a low whistle. 

“Ya better get yer head on straight, cause if she’s just gone and spent all that money on ya and ya aren’t even playin’ at yer best then it’s a waste,” the setter scoffed at him, shaking his head with a teasing sneer, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she dumped yer ass cause of it.”

He whipped his head around, chest and cheeks burning. "She wouldn't." He growled out, watching as Atsumu backed off slightly. 

"Ya sure?" 

Bokuto turned away and continued to wipe down while he had the chance, pointedly ignoring the chiding laugh of the setter as he returned to the rest of the team to plan out the starting rotation for the next set. 

The spiker frowned as he patted down his face, hiding the contemplative look that adorned his face. 

He knew that this wasn't a goodbye appearance from the writer. She could be mean, but she wasn't as _heartless_ as she often made herself out to be. 

So while he couldn't help but feel ecstatic that she was there - in person - watching him play, Bokuto couldn't help but wonder what her motive was. 

Because as deeply as he cared, he knew that things were not always that easy when it came to (Surname) (Name). 

For a moment, he considered that this was her apology, her atonement.

But he was quick to bat that away. 

(Name) wasn't the type.

The only logical reason Bokuto could settle on was that this was an invitation - an opportunity that the writer was extending to him - to prove himself. 

To show her that he was worth opening up to, was worth being with, was worth risking the normality she was comfortable with and stepping out into foreign territory with someone just as uncertain. 

(So the answer was _maybe_ . _Maybe_ she was the type to dump him for playing poorly - if that poor performance was enough to convey their incompatibility.)

He narrowed his eyes. 

Bokuto could do all that and more, easily. 

He threw the towel haphazardly into the basket at the foot of the team's bench, all before he strode back towards the team huddle to pay attention. 

The spiker tilted his neck to the right and then left, popping the joints while he worked out the tension in his right shoulder by stretching out his arm. 

"Bokkun~" Came Atsumu's teasing voice. "Ya finally ready to start?" 

There was fire burning his chest as he turned his head once more in the direction of the writer. 

"We're receiving first, right?" The team nodded. "I call the first spike."

The setter’s lips curled into a grin, devious.

“Then let’s go say ‘hello’.”

* * *

From the first whistle, electricity surged through his veins, up until his palm was flat against the ball Atsumu set, and even long after it soared into the back corner of the court.

His fingers twitched, heart thumping against his ribcage as he stared at the spot he slammed the ball into. 

Atsumu was quick to clap him on the shoulder, ruffling his damp hair with another hand.

“One more, right?” He asked, lips quirking upwards in satisfaction.

Bokuto nodded, turning around to move to his next position in the rotation. “A little higher next time.”

The setter chorted but agreed, clapping his hands to rally the team for their next play.

But he wasn’t listening. Not fully.

Instead he willingly let his gaze stray towards the writer in the stands, honing in on the way her face lit up with a smile after he scored. His heart soared at the sight of her, and fueled his hunger for one more spike.

One more. 

Two more. 

Three more. 

And each time, he made sure to find her again, making sure that her gaze never wavered from where he was.

His own invitation.

His own challenge.

_Eyes on me, Sweetheart, I'll show you a match you won't forget._

Had he not been so focused on making sure (Name) was paying attention, he would have noticed the match ending on his own accord and not from the weight of his teammates vying for his attention as the final whistle blew.

Bo craned his neck from where he was trapped between the bodies, gaze focusing on the numbers that confirmed their team’s win.

**2 - 1**

And though he was being held and pulled in different directions Bokuto was certain that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A feeling solidified by the fact that his girlfriend’s face was brighter than the sun, expression filled with pride- 

For someone other than herself, of all things-

Bokuto was quick to shrug his teammates off, pulling himself off the court to the closest sideline to Section M, all before yelling her name out over the cacophony of cheers and noise.

The world slowed between them, their gazes meeting as he cupped his hands around his mouth to scream-

“I LOVE YOU!”

For a moment his heart stopped, blood rushing and thumping in his ears as they locked eyes, and he watched as her mouth twitched. 

She lifted her hand and brought her fingers to her mouth for a brief second, all before she used that same hand to wave at him, lips parting ever so slightly as if-

He snorted, heart fluttering in his chest once it regained its warmth.

A blown kiss, from none other than (Surname) (Name).

He laughed - a deep, cathartic one that rumbled inside his chest - while he grabbed at the air dramatically, pressing both hands into his chest with delight. 

The warmth flooded across his shoulders and cheeks as he stared at her, unfurling his balled fist and pressing his palm into his sternum - an attempt to absorb the kiss into his system. 

She grinned and laughed, shaking her head at his antics. 

Bokuto blew a kiss back at her, exaggerated and sloppy, and felt his heart swell at the sight of her own hand reach out and grasp at the air in front of her, tucking it back against her own chest. 

He was in love with her. 

And he _knew_ in his heart that she loved him back. 

* * *

Normally, Bokuto didn’t mind the after match interviews photo ops that came with competing, but with the thought of (Name) being in the stadium somewhere, he was eager to leave and find her.

Explaining that to his team and coach the need for him to leave and skip out on celebrations was easier than anticipated - albeit due to the fact that Atsumu had taken complete ownership of getting the spiker back on top of his game.

(“If I’da known all it took was a little look from his girlfriend, I woulda gone and found her myself!”)

So leaving - that was the easy part.

 _Finding_ the writer, however, was a completely different task in itself.

Despite him leaving as fast as he could, despite the stadium and stands thinning out, he couldn’t find her.

And a part of him was willing to cave and call her, to hear her voice and submit and be welcomed by her much missed embrace. But he knew that even if he did call, she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t make things that easy for him.

He took to weaving through the hallways and side rooms, poking his head into bathrooms and closets in order to try and narrow down where she was.

(There was a distant voice in his mind, Kuroo’s voice talking about insanity or something - doing the same thing over and over and expecting new results. Which definitely was _not_ what he was doing. Definitely not.)

He rounded the corner, half-expecting another vacant area, only to stumble across Oikawa Tooru exiting his team’s locker room, towel draped around his neck and bag strap slung across his torso diagonally.

“Oiks!” He called, sprinting over with a hand outstretched towards the setter’s shoulder. “Have you seen-”

“She’s down the hall, on the right.” He replied, reaching out to clap a hand on the approaching man’s shoulder as he slowed to a stop in front of him, “Be nice to her, yeah?” 

His lips curved upwards into a smile before faltering. “Huh?”

“Think she’s been just as torn up about this as you’ve been,” he sighed and shut his eyes for a moment, “take it easy on her.”

Bokuto nodded, his own hand curling around that rested atop his shoulder, “Course I will, I just… Miss her, s’all.”

Oikawa’s brown eyes met Bokuto’s own golden ones, prompting the setter to nod in understanding. There was a brief flicker of _something_ in the brown irises, something foreign and uncomfortable. 

But it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Almost as if it were never there in the first place. 

“I know Tarou-chan. Good luck man.”

And then he was gone, adjusting his bag again before disappearing the same way the spiker had come from. 

Bokuto let his gaze follow along with his friend for a moment, thoughts briefly trailing to _when_ those two had properly made amends and begun to walk the curious line of friendship that they had, but he quickly pushed those aside.

(Name) was nearby.

So he left, just as quick as he came, following Oikawa’s directions further down the turning hallway to find the woman of the hour waiting for him, just where the setter said she would be.

The sigh of relief that escaped him was therapeutic, and he couldn’t control the desperation in his voice as he called her name and approached her, eagerly.

(Name) turned and smiled at him, adjusting the scarf still settled around her shoulders as he hastened his approach.

“Kou-”

 _God, he missed her voice_ -

In an instant he was in front of her, one hand cradling her face in his large hand while his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his front, lips pressing feverishly as they embraced the long missed presence of the other. 

He cared less about the formality and expectations around public displays of affection.

He missed her, that’s _all_ he gave a shit about. 

Bokuto sighed into the kiss, tilting her head upwards to get a better angle, all while crowding her further and further into the wall she was waiting near. His blood returned to thunder in his eardrums, barely drowning out the sounds of her sighs against him.

It was like coming home; a familiar warmth surrounding him as he sunk further and further into the writer.

Nothing else mattered anymore.

Just being with her, there, that’s all he needed.

Her hands tapped against his pectoral, fingers pressing into the muscle as a sign to pull away and give her room. 

He obliged, however reluctantly, and chose to rest his forehead against his, eyes barely open as he stared down at her lightly flushed face.

“We need to talk.” She exhaled, eyes still closed as she pressed back.

Bokuto nodded. “My place.” He mumbled against her lips, the hand at her waist pinching at the skin as he brought her impossibly close. 

“I don’t-”

“I will buy you clothes _tomorrow_ ,” Bokuto all but growled, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, “just let me take care of you tonight. Make it up to you tonight."

He finally opened his eyes, sighing as he moved his nose to press into the crown of his head. 

“Missed you…” He murmured, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “Come back to mine… We can talk… Make-up for lost time… Work everything out…”

He felt her hands tighten around the fabric of his tracksuit.

“And your roommate?”

“He can stay at someone else’s apartment for all I care.” He countered, the rest of his body relaxed against her. “Or we can go to yours. Whatever works. Don’t wanna pressure you.”

The writer shook her head at him, hands trailing up his chest and coming to rest against his shoulders and pinch the fabric there. “Don’t apologise... I’m the one that should be sorry.”

He blinked, eyes wide in surprise. But he said nothing, unsure if an interruption would dissuade her from continuing. 

“I haven’t been taking your feelings into consideration at all - like, from even before we were dating for real. And I know you’re the type of guy who needs that validation constantly in order to feel like things are working out; I knew that from the get-go and I just, _ignored_ it, because I thought it would be easier in the long run to pretend that it didn’t matter. But it does. Because you were doing so much for me and, I know it didn’t seem like it but appreciate it - _all_ of it-”

Bokuto raised his head from where it lay against her own, staring at her as she spoke faster and faster, taking note of the fact her gaze was settled firmly in front of her - zeroed in on his chest. 

With the hand that still cradled her face, he rubbed his thumb under the curve of her jaw, silently hoping that it calmed her down a little.

“I’m not saying I’m ready for my entire life to change overnight.” She continued, grip tightening and stretching the fabric out. “I just... I want us to try and see things from each other’s perspectives, not just run blindly into whatever we think the other person wants from us... I don’t _think_ that’s too much to ask but-”

At that, Bokuto laughed, nuzzling his head against her. “Communication. Like regular adults? I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. Though, (Name)-chan, I’m a little worried that it took you, like, two weeks to figure out that that’s what you wanted.”

He could _feel_ her pout form against him.

“M’not _good_ at the _feelings_ and _people_ and _relationships_ \- you know that.” The words, though growled out, lacked the venom to make them hurt. Instead they made him laugh, made him hold her a little tighter.

“I know, thank you for taking your time.”

(Name) shuffled ever so slightly.

“I like you.” She breathed out, moving so she could rest her chin against his collarbone. “I wouldn’t have freaked out if I didn’t like you... If I wasn’t so afraid of messing things up with you... So you don’t have anything to worry about, promise... ”

The man held back a grin, held back the squeak that burbled in his throat, and instead craned his neck so that he was able to press a kiss into her temple. 

“That’s all I really needed to hear.” 

(It really wasn’t, and Bokuto knew he was entitled to a bit _more_ from her - but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he could press for something more substantial when he wasn’t trying to make up for lost time.

Baby steps. Bigger fish to fry-)

“So, my offer still stands? My place? I’ll buy you clothes tomorrow to make up for it.”

“There sure is a one track mind in that head of yours~” 

“Is it really so wrong? For me to want some _proper_ alone time with you?” He asked, not bothering to stop the way the words scraped the lower end of his register. His chest rumbled against hers, and he felt her tremble at the sensation.

“You have a _roommate_ -”

“I will call him on the way home and tell him to go hang out at a friend’s for the next few days,” he interjected, “but if you’re worried then we can go back to yours?”

“No I just,” she shrugged, “don’t wanna step on any toes right after we’re just getting better.”

“And I don’t want to step on _your_ toes... Not again.”

The writer shook her head as it leaned against him, a puff of air brushing over his collarbone. “Is your place closer to here?”

“Probably closer than yours is.”

“Then we’ll go to yours... Keep talking things out.” She conceded with a nod. “I really am sorry, though, Kou.”

The spiker’s lips curved up into a grin and he lowered his head to give her a kiss. They were chapped, and he could feel her pulse point under his thumb, and the sensation and thought alone filled him with satisfaction.

As he parted, he watched her eyes flutter open. “I love you.”

She hummed, pressing up on her toes to close the distance once more.

* * *

_November, 2018_

Two weeks after the charity match, Oikawa found himself on the balcony with the writer to his left. 

Unplanned. 

Unprompted.

He hadn't even _known_ the writer was out there in the first place. 

But the call of the sunset was far stronger than Oikawa's concern as to whether she was there or not. 

(And he wasn't going to admit that it was a relief to see her after all that time.)

“I’ll take my ‘Thank you’ now.”

He chimed with a grin, not bothering to look at her as the writer dragged her chair to the side of the balcony closest to him, the can in her hand knocking against the metal of the chair’s frame with a soft clink.

“Y’know I _almost_ said ‘For what’ but then I remembered that you actually did something for me.” The writer admitted, tilting her head back so the crown of it could rest against the concrete. “So thanks. I guess.”

She turned her head, just slightly. 

"Would've been nice to see my boyfriend _completely_ crush you, but beggars can’t be choosers." 

He ignored the way his eye twitched at the comment. “Now Writer-chan, you and Tarou-chan better get used to this victory. Once the V-League starts up again, I’ll be a hundred times worse than I was in this match~" He tutted leaning over to press his cheek against the cool barrier between them. 

She reached out with a roll of her eyes, pressing the cold metal of the beer can into his nose and watching in delight as he recoiled from the difference in temperature.

“How about a consolation prize?” She offered, training her gaze back out onto the horizon line. “I’ve got a spare evening next week. We can take the Hopeless Couple out too, maybe Iwaizumi as well if he’s free.” 

The setter opened his mouth, quick to reply with his approval before he stopped himself in his tracks, frown quickly making its way to his face. 

No matter how much he wanted a night with her and their friends, it wasn’t that simple anymore.

 _Nothing_ would be that simple.

Not when he saw the look of desperation in Bokuto’s eyes; the hunger on the court as he directed all of his extra attention away from the match and on the writer tucked away in the crowds, the _want_ that bubbled to the surface when he directed him in the direction of the woman waiting for him.

“It’s pretty bold of you to assume Tarou-chan won’t continue to monopolise your time now that you’re _completely_ public and official.” Oikawa mused, taking note of the way the writer’s facade cracked for a moment. “Makki-Makki says you’re never home on your days off when he needs you which, I admit, is a really disturbing concept to think about. You? Outside? Were you abducted by aliens? Blink twice if you need help.”

“I don’t wanna hear that type of talk from a walking monkey bobblehead bastard."

The setter scoffed, but kept looking at her, the unspoken reiteration of his question lurking beneath the surface of his stifling silence. 

"I can make time." She affirmed, brow pinched as she spoke. "Friends make time for each other, or whatever the fuck it was that Mattsun said it was." 

He scoffed. "You're the only person willingly listening to Matsukawa Issei." 

(Name) laughed. "Someone has too. I’m the best friend that asshole has these days.”

“And I’ll make time.” The writer assured, this time the sentiment was directed at the setter. “We’re working on the whole ‘boundaries’ thing. So give me a restaurant and I’ll make the booking for all of us.”

Oikawa stopped himself from wincing at the way his heart twinged in pain from her words, from her demeanour, from how quick she was to brush off the joking -but-genuine concern he held for her, from how much it hurt to try and move on from someone you had such conflicting and confusing feelings for.

The familiarity reared its ugly head at him, taunting him with the memories of days that he didn’t care for, the days he dismissed long ago as half-assed footnotes in his life. 

“Sure. Let me think about it.” He replied, sitting back up in his chair to return to the ease of nonchalance he so desperately wished to have around the writer once more. 

But distance was better. Whatever feelings he was feeling for her didn’t fit in with where he was in his life. And he wasn’t truly sure if what he felt meant _anything_ substantial. 

But there were still things left unsaid - things that he _knew_ he would never get the chance to say now that things were fine between herself and Bokuto.

A missed chance? Maybe.

(Would one consider it ‘missed’ if there never was a real chance to begin with?)

He tapped his fingers against the railing, not willing to look away.

“Something interesting on my face?” (Surname) inquired, lips curling into a smirk.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

Oikawa felt his throat tighten for a second, hesitation rising back to the surface of his demeanour.

_Bite the bullet._

_You’ll never get a second shot for this._

He cleared his throat. 

“Look after yourself, okay?”

It wasn’t a farewell, not by any means.

He was certain the writer would keep her word and make time for him - for _all_ of them. 

Rather he wanted to clear the air, to maybe play the rest of his hand and show her the truth in a way that didn’t out him too much.

He learned from past mistakes - from the people who pined and waited for too long and not long enough. 

This was the only way for him to start to move on.

To convince himself that everything would be fine.

If she was fine, he would be fine. 

“Worried?” She smiled at him, teasing. 

He was thankful that she didn’t need to ask _what_ he was referring to. 

“No.”

_A little._

“But you know how Tarou-chan is.” He continued, donning his infamous grin. “A little too headstrong, a little too fast for people like us.”

She smiled back. 

But there was something a little more bittersweet that hid beneath the surface level fondness that adorned her face. 

For a moment, Oikawa faltered. 

(With the writer, things often only took a moment.)

He faltered and considered; the flashes of a life that didn’t happen appearing in the forefront of his mind. 

In another life, perhaps they'd be happy. 

But he didn't want to imagine that possibility.

Not now.

Not when she was standing in front of him, looking as though something had breathed a whole new life into her. 

Not when he was trying to move on and _let go_. 

So he bit his tongue, and smiled at her through the gnawing regret that was eating at his chest. 

There would be another time and place for them.

He'd let himself regret and wait and wonder with the 'what if's and 'could be's another time, when he wasn't under the gaze of the cause of his pain.

So he stayed silent, turning back to the setting sun on the horizon line, eyes shut as he let the fading sunlight wash over him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late Birthday ATAON. Even if you didn't hold up to the goddamn timeskip Furudate threw at us, you still were so much fun to write.
> 
> Thank you for reading, whether you were following along from the original ATAON days or you're a new reader entirely. I appreciate all the love and support my dumb little story received then and continues to receive now. ATAON (and all the other Readerverse fics im still writing) mean so much to me and its such an honour to know there are people out there who feel just as strongly about these stories as I do.
> 
> //
> 
> sidenote you definitely dont have to read if you arent interested in listening to me ramble: this was incredibly hard to write. a part of it is because it replaces almost 100k words of plot, reimagines plotlines imperative to both Writer and Oikawa's character growth - but it is mostly due to the fact i was in such a _**weird**_ place when i originally wrote ATAON. and being back in that state of mind was strange and foreign and familiar, and it put me in a weird state of Feeling. not to say im much better now - because really i aint - but trying to find that mood and atmosphere again by regressing to that original point is,,, different. i almost didnt want to finish because of how uncomfy it was, but i knew i had to. because i wanted this out there. ill admit there are still moments where im still not completely happy with the way i wrote them, and i still have these genuine moments of "oh wow, this sucks ass i should delete everything and myself". but hey, this is out there now. no taking it back.  
>  ~~there was also meant to be another NSFW scene but,, look,,, this thing is already _so long_ and im just,,, makeup sex wouldve been too predictable, right?,,, Oikawa sweetie im so sorry that Bo fucked before you did-~~  
> anyway cheers for reading this personal ramble. i really hope you enjoyed the suffering. i have updates for other stories on the way so keep an eye out. please stay safe out there. love yall x


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